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PASTOirS  SKETCHES 


C0nijer$iiti0nj5  toiti]  |Lit^i0us  |uquim5, 


RESPECTING 


THE  WAY  OF  SALVATION. 


6  Z<5;t;vof  avTfjg  rb  'Agviov. 


ICHABOD  S.  SPENCER,  D.D. 

FASTOR    OF   THE    SECOND    PRESBYTERIAN    CUURCH    BROOKLYN,    N.  T. 


Seconb   Scries 


FOURTH  THOUSAND. 


NEW    YORK: 
PUBLISHED    BY    M.    W.    DODD, 

Corner  "of  Spruce  St.  and  City  Hall  Square. 
1853. 


Entered,  iiccurding  lo  Act  of  Congress,  in  llio  year  1853, 

BY  ICHABOD   S.  SPENCER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


8TEHSOTYPED    BY  PRINTJID    BY 

THOMAS    B.    SMITH,  E.    O-    JENKINS 

216  William  St.,  N.  Y.  114  Nassau  St. 


€tiuttnti 


PAGE 

THE    UNIVERSALIST's    DAUGUTER 11 

TUE    LOST    GUILD  :    OR,    AFFLIOTIOISI    SANCTIFIED  .  .  24 

THE   STORMY   NIGHT:    OR,    PERSEVERANCE    .  .  .  .61 

THE    CHOICE  :    HOLD    ON    OR   LET    GO  ....  68 

THE   NEGLECTED   BIBLE 72 

NO    ESCAPE 93 

THE   DATE   OF   CONVERSION 100 

MY   OLD   mother:    OR,    CONSCIENCE   IN   TRADE  .  .         123 

ONE    WORD    TO    A    SINNER 137 

NOBODY    SAID    ANYTHING   TO    ME 139 

FAMILY    PRAYER  . 142 

DOCTRINES    RECONCILED  :     OR,    FREEDOM    AND    SOVEREIGNTY    145 
I    can't    PRAY  :    OR,    THE   TWO    SISTERS  ....    154 

I    can't    FEEL 180 

WILLING  TO    BE    LOST 186 

THE   BIRD    OF    PARADISE 207 

SUPERSTITION 226 

THE    WHISTLING    TIIINXER 229 

TNCONSCIOUS   CONVERSION 249 

CEASING   TO    PRAY  ....;..         270 

CONTINUING   TO    PRAY 276 

HUMAN   ABILITY 280 

THE    FAULTS    OF    CHRISTIANS         .  .  .  .  .  .312 

TRYING   TO   FIND   GOD   IN   THE    WRONG     ....         826 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

DELAY  :    OE,    THE    ACCEPTED    TIME 344 

PHYSICAL   INFLUENCE 350 

TREATMENT    OF   THE    DESPONDING 354 

UNKNOWN   PEESENCE    OF   THE    SPIRIT         ....         364 

A    REVIVAL    IS    COMING .    370 

THE    BROKEN    EESOLUTION 373 

WHAT    CAN    I    DO? 385 

RELIGION   AND    EUM 389 

THE    WORD    OF    A    COMPANION 392 

FASTING   AND   PEAYER 395 

GOD   reigns:    OR,    DESPAIR 398 

THE    LAST    HOUR 408 

THE    DAWN    OF    HEAVEN 420 


The  followiug  Skotclies  have  no  necessary  connection 
with  those  formerly  published,  and  contained  in  another 
volume.  Each  volume  is  complete  by  itself,  though  the 
two  are  fit  companions  for  each  other. 

The  favorable  reception  which  the  former  volume  met 
with  from  the  public, — the  numerous  testimonials  of  its 
usefulness  to  private  individuals,  which  have  been  received 
from  many  different  parts  of  the  country, — and  more 
especially  the  similar  testimonials  received  from  many  of 
his  ministerial  brethren,  have  induced  the  author  to  be- 
lieve it  to  be  his  cluUj.  to  issue  this  additional  volume. 
The  former  one  has  a  thousand-fold  more  than  realized 
every  expectation  that  was  ever  entertained  by  the  author 
respecting  it ;  and  although  this  volume  maybe  less  in- 
teresting in  tender  and  affecting  incidents,  it  is  believed 
there  are  some  reasons  to  hope,  it  will  not  prove  less 
useful. 

The  author  has  aimed  to  present  here  such  sketches  as 
are  unlike  those  of  the  former  publication ;  so  as  to  avoid, 
as  much  as  possible,  the  needless  repetition  of  the  same 
ideas  and  arguments,  and  to  make  the  volume  a  fit  com- 
panion for  the  one  which  preceded  it. 


VI  PREFACE. 

In  these  volumes,  the  author  is  not  to  be  understood 
as  professing  to  exhibit  all  the  phases  of  Christian  expe- 
rience. To  the  varieties  of  such  experience  there  is  no 
assignable  or  conceivable  end.  Experiences  are  varied  and 
modified  by  a  thousand  circumstances,  which  no  pen  can 
describe, — by  age,  by  condition,  by  illness,  by  peculiarities 
of  mind  and  disposition,  by  the  kind  of  preaching  whicli 
has  been  heard,  by  associations,  by  habits  of  life,  and  per- 
haps, by  the  sovereign  and  infinite  wisdom  of  the  Divine 
Spirit,  in  Hi^  enlightening  and  saving  influences  Some- 
times one  doctrine,  or  class  of  truths,  and  sometimes  an- 
other, will  take  the  lead  in  the  reflections  of  an  anxious 
mind  ,  and  so  varied  will  these  reflections  become,  that 
(it  is  believed),  no  wise  man  will  ever  attempt  to  describe 
religious  experiences,  which  shall  embrace  all  possible 
varieties.  The  circle  of  religious  experience  is  immense, 
if  not  infinite.  But  this  fact  need  discourage  no  inquirer, 
need  embarass  no  minister  of  the  Gospel.  The  truth  of 
God,  after  all,  is  simple  :  there  never  was  a  soul  to  which 
it  is  not  applicable,  and  it  is  the  sole  instrument  of  the 
Spirit  in  the  sanctification  of  the  soul ;  and  tlierefore 
there  will  be  points  of  very  distinct  resemblance  in  all 
the  saving  experiences  of  men.  And  if  what  the  author 
has  written  upon  this  subject  tends  to  show,  that  the  same 
truths  are  applicable  to  all  souls  :  his  work  may  not  be 
valueless  in  illustrating  the  simplicity  of  the  Christian 
religion,  in  conducting  bewildered  minds  to  the  path  of 
truth  and  salvation,  and  in  showing,  that  the  power  and 
excellence  of  the  Gospel  lie  in  the  great  doctrines  of  grace, 


PREFACE.  Vll 

— doctrines  applicable  to  all  souls  who  would  find  the 
way  to  Christ  and  eternal  life. 

The  purpose  of  this  book  is  not  sectarian.  It  is  confi- 
dently believed,  that  nothing  which  is  here  written  can 
give  any  ofi'ence  to  evangelical  Christians  of  any  denomi- 
nation. Not  willingly  would  tlie  author  wound  the  feel- 
ings of  any  human  being ;  and  he  has  aimed  here,  to  deal 
only  with  the  religion  of  the  heart,  and  the  truths  which 
promote  it. 

It  is  not  probable,  that  all  readers  of  this  book  will 
entirely  approve  the  Quode  of  the  author's  conversations 
with  the  inquiring.  He  has  only  to  say,  that  his  reliance 
has  been  placed  upon  the  tnitU  alone,  as  the  instrument 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  leading  sinners  to  heaven  ;  and  con- 
sequently his  aim,  in  these  conversations,  was  simply  to 
cause  the  truth  to  be  understood,  felt,  and  received,  as 
the  sole  and  sure  guide.  The  matter  of  his  teaching  can 
be  better  judged  of,  by  this  book,  than  the  manner  of  his 
teaching.  The  propriety  of  manner  has  respect  to  the 
person,  his  age,  state  of  mind,  and  other  things  ;  and  to 
give  such  a  minute  description  of  all  these  personalities 
as  to  justify  the  manner  in  which  he  spoke,  the  author 
knew  full  well  w^ould  make  the  book  too  large,  and  dimin- 
ish the  power  of  its  truth.  But  he  has  always  been  un- 
willing to  utter  a  single  sentence,  which  could  wound  the 
feelings  of  an  anxious  inquirer  after  truth,  aiming  to  find 
his  way  up  to  the  Cross,  and  perplexed  and  harassed  with 
the  doubts,  and  difficulties,  and  darknesses  of  his  own 
troubled  mind.     And  h :  may  be  permitted   to   say,  that 


Vm  PREFACE. 

some  of  the  expressions  contained  in  this  book,  (and  the 
former  one  also.)  which,  to  a  mere  reader,  will  probably 
sound  abrupt,  and  perhaps  severe^  are  expressions  which 
assumed  their  peculiar  style,  from  the  supposed  propriety 
of  it  in  the  case.  It  was  felt  to  be  an  important  thing  to 
condense  the  truth,  to  make  it  plain,  and  pointed,  and 
incapable  of  being  misunderstood  ;  but  he  hopes  and  trusts 
there  are  no  expressions  here  which  will  be  found  offensive 
to  refined  taste.  Christianity,  certainly,  is  kindness,  and 
good  manners,  and  good  taste  ;  aud  the  author  is  confi- 
dent, that  he  never  uttered  an  unkind  expression  upon 
the  ear  of  any  inquirer,  and  never  unnecessarily  wounded 
the  feelings  of  any  one,  who  ever  did  him  the  favor  to 
come  to  him.  About  the  mode  of  conversation,  men  will 
entertain  opinions  somewhat  unlike  :  the  author  can  only 
say,  he  aimed  to  impress  the  truth  upon  the  mind  in  the 
most  effectual  manner  :  and  he  feels  fully  satisfied  with 
the  kind  regards  towards  himself,  which  are  entertained 
by  those  who  have  been  led  to  Christ  under  his  ministra- 
tions. They  both  prize  and  love  him  far  more  than  he 
deserves. 

Some  of  the  conversations  recorded  here,  (as  well  as 
those  contained  in  the  former  volume,)  have  a  character 
which  they  could  not  have  possessed,  had  it  not  been  for 
an  advantage,  which  the  author  always  strove  to  improve. 
Whenever  it  was  practicable,  he  studied  the  subjects  be- 
forehand. Having  met  an  individual  once,  and  expecting 
to  meet  him  again,  he  carefully  considered  his  case, 
aimed  to  anticipate  his  difiiculties,  studied  the  whole  sub- 


PREFACE.  IX 

ject  intensely,  and,  in  many  cases,  wrote  sermons  upon  it, 
the  substance  of  wliieli  afterwards  came  out,  to  a  greater 
or  less  extent,  in  the  conversation.  Thus,  the  conversa- 
tions aided  the  sermons,  and  the  sermons  aided  the  con- 
versations. If  he  might  be  permitted  to  do  so,  the  author 
would  commend  this  mode  of  ministerial  action  to  younger 
ministers  of  the  gospel. 

What  is  here  presented  to  the  public,  has  been  submit- 
ted to  the  inspection  of  some  of  the  author's  ministerial 
brethren,  in  whose  judgment  and  taste  he  has  great  confi- 
dence ;  and,  without  their  approval,  these  pages  would 
never  have  been  printed. 

If  this  humble  volume,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  shall  be 
the  means  of  aiding  sinners  in  the  way  of  salvation,  and 
of  any  little  assistance  to  the  younger  ministers  of  the 
Gospel,  in  directing  the  anxious,  and  guiding  the  per- 
plexed, and  comforting  the  broken  in  heart,  the  author's 
hopes  will  be  realized. 


Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,    ) 
March,  1853.        \ 


There  was  sometliing,  as  I  fhoiiglit,  not  a  little 
peculiar  in  tlie  religious  aspect  of  a  young  married 
woman  in  my  congregation,  wliom  I  sometimes  vis- 
ited, and  strove  to  influence  on  the  subject  of  religion. 
Stie  was  not  a  pious  woman,  but  greatly  respected 
religion,  and  was  a  constant  attendant  at  cliurcb.  It 
was  lier  seriousness  wbich  first  made  me  particularly 
acquainted  with  her;  though  before  that  time,  I  had 
sometimes  urged  her  to  attend  to  the  concerns  of  a 
fature  life.  At  her  sohcitation,  as  I  understood,  her 
husband,  with  herself,  had  left  my  congregation 
about  six  months  before,  and  they  had  attended  an- 
other church,  until  they  were  induced  to  conie  back 
to  our  church,  one  evening,  by  the  expectation  of 
hearing  a  clergyman  from  a  distance.  As  she  found 
I  was  to  preach  (for  the  stranger  clergyman  was  not 
there),  she  whispered  to  her  husband,  proposing  to 
leave  the  place  and  go  home;  but  he  refused  to 
go,  for  he  said  it  did  "  not  look  well."  They  con- 
stantly attended  our  church  after  tliat  evening ;  and 
when  they  became  seriously  disposed  to  seek  the 


12  THE     UNIVERSALIST'S     DAUGHTER. 

Lord,  I  became  more  intimately  acquainted  vvith 
them.  Slie  had  become  deeply  serious,  but  appeared 
strange  to  me.  I  could  not  discover  precisely  what 
it  was  that  was  peculiar  about  her,  but  there  was 
something.  She  was  uniformly  solemn,  appeared  to 
me  to  be  frank  and  candid,  was  an  intelhgent  wo- 
man, had  become  prayerful,  and  at  times  deeply 
anxious  about  her  future  welfare.  And  j^et,  as  weeks 
passed  on,  she  appeared  to  make  no  progress,  but 
remained  in  much  the  same  state  of  mind,  unsettled 
and  without  peace. 

She  had  no  resting-spot.  Whenever  her  thoughts 
were  directed  to  the  subject  of  religion,  a  pensiveness 
would  spread  over  her  soul,  like  the  shadow  of  a 
cloud  over  the  summer  landscape.  I  pitied  her.  She 
was  an  interesting  woman.  Her  naturally  fine  mind 
had  not  been  neglected.  She  had  received  the  ac- 
complishments of  a  careful  education.  She  was 
young,  she  was  beautiful,  she  was  tasteful ;  and  the 
ease  of  her  manners  threw  an  additional  gracefulness 
over  her  tall  and  graceful  person.  But  a  cloud  was 
on  her  brow.  It  was  out  of  its  place — it  had  no 
right  there.  Such  a  brow  ought  to  be  bathed  in 
the  sun-light.  A  heart  like  hers  ought  not  to  be  the 
victim  of  some  secret  and  mysterious  sorrow,  and 
such  a  soul  as  hers  ought  to  find  in  the  kindness  of 
Christ  the  balm  for  its  sorrows. 

She  had  been  married  about  a  year,  and  her  hus- 


THE     UNIVERSALIST'6     DAUGHTER.  13 

band,  like  herself,  had  become  interested  in  the  sub- 
ject of  religion.  But  they  were  very  unlike  in  their 
religious  successes.  He  seemed  to  get  onwards ;  she 
remained  stationary  and  sad.  They  were  about  the 
same  age  (twenty-seven,  perhaps),  and  in  other  re- 
spects much  resembled  each  other ;  but  they  were 
unlike  in  religion. 

She  was  born  and  had  been  educated  in  a  distant 
part  of  the  country,  and  among  people  of  somewhat 
different  manners;  and  I  thought  that  she  might 
perhaps  have  some  feelings  of  melancholy  and  lone- 
liness, as  she  had  come  to  reside  among  strangers. 
But  I  found  she  had  no  feelings  of  that  kind.  On 
the  contrary,  she  was  delighted  with  her  new  home ; 
was  easy  and  familiar,  and  friendly  in  her  social 
intercourse  with  her  new  acquaintances.  Several 
times  I  called  upon  her,  and  aimed  to  discover  what 
made  her  so  downcast  in  mind,  and  especially  what 
hindered  lier  from  attaining  peace  with  God,  through 
faith  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  But  I  could  gain  no 
light  on  the  subject.  After  all  my  conversation 
with  her,  the  peculiarity  which  hung  around  her 
was  as  mysterious  to  me  as  ever. 

At  one  time  I  suspected  that  her  seriousness  might 
arise  more  from  mere  fea.r  than  from  any  just  sense 
of  her  sin ;  and  therefore  I  aimed,  by  explanation 
of  the  law  of  God,  and  by  application  of  it  to  her 
own  heart,  to  render  her  conviction  more  deep  and 


14  THE     UNIVERSALIST'S     DAUGHTER. 

clear.  But,  to  my  surprise,  I  found  that  her  sense 
of  sin  and  unworthiness,  and  of  the  wickedness  of 
her  heart,  appeared  to  be  more  than  usually  deep 
and  solemn. 

At  another  time  I  feared  that  she  might  have  a 
very  imperfect  idea  of  the  freeness  of  divine  grace ; 
and  therefore  I  aimed  to  show  her  how  '  the  kindness 
and  love  of  God  our  Saviour^  offers  to  every  sinner 
pardon  and  eternal  life  as  a  free  gift,  by  us  unmer- 
ited and  unbought.  And  again  to  my  surprise,  I 
found  that  her  ideas  on  this  point  also  appeared  as 
clear  and  as  strong  as  any  that  I  could  express. 

So  it  was  with  her,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  on  every 
part  of  evangelical  truth.  I  could  discover  in  her 
mind  no  error  or  deficiency :  and  could  not  even 
conjecture  what  kept  her  from  flying  to  Christ  in 
faith.  Evidently  the  Holy  Spirit  was  with  her,  but 
she  yet  lingered;  and  her  state  appeared  to  me 
the  more  wonderful,  because  her  husband  had  be- 
come, as  we  believed,  a  follower  of  Christ,  and  was 
cheerful  and  happy  in  hope. 

As  I  was  conversing  with  her  one  day  about  her 
state  of  mind,  she  somewhat  surprised  me  by  sud- 
denly asking, — 

"  Will  you  lend  me  the  Presbyterian  Confession 
of  Faith?" 

''  Certainly,  Madam,"  said  I,  "  if  you  want  it ;  but 
I  advise  you  to  let  it  alone." 


THE     UN  I  VERBALIST'S     DAUGHTER.  15 

"I  want  to  know,"  said  she,  "  wliat  tlie  Presby- 
terians believe." 

"  They  believe  just  Avhat  you  do,  I  suppose,"  said 
I ;  "  they  believe  the  Bible,— they  beheve  just  what 
you  hear  me  preach  every  Sabbath." 

"  Other  denominations,"  said  she,  "  who  disagree, 
with  you,  profess  to  believe  the  Bible  too." 

"Yes,  that  is  all  true  ;  but  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
agree  with  either ;  but  to  agree  with  the  Bible.  I 
have  no  desire  to  make  a  Presbyterian  of  you.  I 
only  wish  you  to  be  a  Christian,  and  I  am  fully  con- 
tent to  have  you  judge  for  yourself  what  the  gospel 
teaches,  without  being  influenced  by  the  Presbyte- 
rian Confession  of  Faith  or  any  other  human  com- 
position. The  Bible  is  the  rule.  If  we  agree  with 
it,  we  are  right ;  if  not,  we  are  Avrong.  You  will 
understand  it  well  enough  to  be  saved,  if  you  will 
study  it  prayerfully,  and  exercise  your  own  good 
sense.  You  have  to  give  an  account  of  yourself  unto 
Ood,  and  it  matters  little  to  you  what  other  people 
beheve." 

"  Why  are  you  unwilling,"  says  she,  "to  have  me 
read  your  Confession  of  Faith  ?" 

"  I  am  not  unwilling.  Madam, — not  at  all,  if  you 
wish  to  read  it,  I  will  bring  it  to  you,  with  pleasure, 
at  any  time  you  desire  it.  But  I  am  only  expressing 
my  opinion,  that  it  will  do  you  no  good  at  present. 
I  think  tlie  Bible  is  far  better  for  you  to  read  just 


16  THE     UNIVERSALIST'S     DAUGHTER. 

now.  At  anotlier  time,  the  Confession  of  Faith  may 
be  of  service  to  yon,  bnt  not  now." 

"  I  was  not  brought  np  in  the  Presbyterian  church, 
sir.  My  father  is  a  UniversaHst,  and  my  mind  is 
not  settled  about  the  doctrines  of  rehgion." 

"Are  you  a  UniversaHst  too?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't  think  I  am ;  but  I  don't  know 
what  to  beheve,"  said  she  most  mournfully. 

"  Do  you  believe  the  Bible  is  God's  word?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  beheve  that." 

"  Well,  the  Confession  of  Faith  is  not  God's  word 
(though  in  my  opinion  it  substantially  agrees  with 
it) ;  and  I  advise  you  to  take  the  Bible  and  lay  its 
truth  upon  your  own  heart,  with  all  candor  and 
with  sincere  prayer.  K  you  get  into  the  Confession 
of  Faith,  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  understand  it  so 
well  as  you  can  understand  the  Bible ;  and  I  am 
afraid  your  understanding  alone  will  be  employed, 
and  not  your  heart ;  or  at  least,  that  you  will  have 
more  of  the  spirit  of  speculation  than  of  heart  reli- 
gion, and  will  leave  your  sins,  your  Saviour,  and 
salvation  too  much  out  of  sight." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  don't  mean  to  do  that." 

"  I  think,  Madam,  that  you  know  perfectly  well, 
that  the  Bible  demands  of  you  a  repentance,  and  a 
faith,  and  a  love  of  God,  which  you  do  not  exercise ; 
and  your  first  business  should  be,  not  to  examine 
the  Confession  of  Faith  about  a  great  many  other 


THE     UNIVERSALIST'S     DAUGHTER.  17 

doctrines,  but  to  get  your  heart  right, — and  wliat 
that  means,  the  Bible  teaches  you,  and  you  painfully 
feel  its  truth." 

"  But,  sir,  I  ought  to  know  what  a  church  believes, 
before  I  unite  with  it." 

''  Most  certainly  you  ought.  But  you  are  not 
prepared  at  present  to  unite  with  any  church.  You 
do  not  think  yourself  to  be  a  true  Christian  at  heart 
— a  true  penitent — a  true  believer' — ^a  sinner  born 
again,  and  at  peace  with  God  through  Jesus  Christ. 
Come  to  these  things  first.  Gret  a  heart  religion  ;  and 
after  that  you  will  be  better  prepared  to  examine 
the  Confession  of  Faith.  But  don't  allow  your  mind 
to  be  led  away  into  a  wilderness  of  doctrines,  to  the 
neglect  of  your  present,  plain  duty.  You  are  an  un- 
happy woman,  a  sinner  without  pardon.  You  have 
no  peace  of  mind.  And  first  of  all,  yes  now  on  the 
spot,  you  ought  to  give  up  your  heart  to  Christ, 
penitent  for  sin  and  trusting  to  the  divine  mercy. 
Here  lies  our  present  duty.  Don't  you  think  so 
yourself?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  indeed  I  do,"  said  she,  sadly ;  "  /  wish 
I  was  a  Christian^ 

"  I  will  send  you  the  Confession  of  Faith  if  you 
desire  it,  but  in  my " 

"  No,  don't  send  it,"  said  she,  interrupting  me,  "  I 
will  not  read  it  yet." 

"  You  said  your  father  was  a  Universalist,  but 


18  THE     UNIVERS  ALIST'S     DAUGHTER. 

you  did  not  think  you  yourself  were  one.  I  liave 
no  desire  to  say  anything  to  you  about  that  doctrine. 
It  is  unnecessar}^  If  you  will  read  the  Bible  with 
candor  and  common  sense,  and  with  humble  prayer 
for  the  direction  of  your  heavenly  Father,  you  cer- 
tainly can  know  as  well  as  any  one,  what  the  Bible 
teaches  about  that.  I  leave  that  to  your  own  judg- 
ment. If  you  find  any  difficulty  on  that  or  any 
other  subject,  I  shall  be  happy  to  tell  you  hereafter 
just  what  I  think.  But  I  am  sure  you  cannot  mis- 
take the  meaning  of  God's  word  about  the  everlast- 
ing punishment  of  sinners." 

"  Do  come  to  see  me  again,"  said  she,  with  a  sad 
earnestness.  "  I  am  not  satisfied  to  rest  where  I  am. 
I  will  try  to  follow  your  advice." 

After  a  short  prayer,  I  left  her.  In  subsequent 
conversation  with  her,  I  discovered  nothing  to  make 
her  peculiarity  or  hindrance  to  repentance  any  more 
intelligible.  I  did  not  sujDpose  that  the  religious 
opinions  of  her  father  were  exerting  any  influence 
upon  her  mind,  for  it  seemed  to  me,  and  to  herself, 
too,  that  she  had  entirely  abandoned  them. 

Just  at  this  time,  her  father  paid  her  a  visit,  and 
remained  with  her  for  more  than  a  week.  He  prob- 
ably noticed  that  she  was  unhappy,  and  probably 
knew  the  cause ;  but  he  said  nothing  to  her  on  the 
subject  of  religion.  He  was  one  of  the  prominent 
men  and  liberal  supporters  of  a  UniversaHst  church 


THE     UNIVERSALIST'S     DAUGHTER.  19 

in  the  place  of  liis  residence ;  and  as  slie  afterwards 
told  me,  slie  longed,  day  after  day,  wliile  he  re- 
mained with  her,  to  talk  with  him  about  religion, 
and  about  her  own  feelings ;  but  he  seemed  to  avoid 
all  conversation  which  would  lead  to  the  subject, 
and  she  "  could  not  muster  courage  enough,"  as  she 
expressed  it,  "to  speak  to  liini  and  tell  him  how  she 
felt."  Every  daj^  she  thought  she  certainly  luould 
do  it,  but  every  day  she  neglected  it,  and  every 
night  she  wept  bitterly  over  her  neglect.  Says  she 
to  me,  "he  is  a  very  affectionate  father,  he  has 
always  treated  me  most  kindly ;  but  I  could  not  tell 
him  how  I  felt — my  heart  failed  me  when  I  tried." 

The  morning  at  last  came  when  he  was  to  leave 
her.  He  }jrepared  for  his  departure,  and  she  had 
not  yet  told  him  of  the  burden  that  lay  on  her  heart. 
He  bade  her  good-bye  very  affectionately,  gave  her 
the  parting  kiss,  passed  out  at  the  door,  and  closed 
it  after  him.  Suddenly,  her  whole  soul  was  aroused 
within  her.  She  "  could  not  let  him  depart  so."  She 
hastily  opened  the  door  and  ran  after  him  through 
the  little  yard  before  the  house,  to  the  front  gate. 
She  flung  her  arms  around  him,  "  Father,  oh,  my 
father !"  says  she,  the  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes, 
" I  want  to  ask  you  one  question;  I  can't  let  you  go 
till  you  tell  me.  I  have  wanted  to  ask  you  ever 
since  you  came  here,  but  I  couldn't.  I  am  very 
unhappy.     I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about 


20  THE   universalist's   daughter. 

religion  lately,  and  I  want  to  ask  you  one  thing. 
Tell  me,  fatlier,  what  you  truly  think — you  must  tell 
me — do  you  really  believe  that  all  people  will  be 
saved  hereafter,  and  be  happy  in  another  world? 
DonH  deceive  me,  father,  tell  me  what  you  really  be- 
lieve." 

"  Elizabeth,"  said  he,  with  evident  emotion,  which 
he  struggled  to  conceal,  "I  think  it  is  very  likely 
that  some  will  be  lost  forever  T^  and  lifting  his  hand 
to  his  brow,  he  instantly  turned  away  and  left  her. 
He  could  not  tell  his  daughter,  as  she  hung  upon 
him  in  such  distress,  that  dangerous  falsehood  which 
he  professed  to  believe. 

His  tearful  daughter  returned  into  her  house,  the 
.ast  prop  knocked  away,  the  last  refuge  gone! 
*'Now,"  as  she  said  to  me  afterwards,  "she  could 
look  to  nothing  but  Christ,  and  have  hope  only  in 
sovereign  mercy.  My  last  deception  was  gone." 
And  it  was  not  long  before  she  became  as  happy  in 
hope,  as  she  had  been  sad  in  her  perplexities  and 
fears.     She  was  a  firm  and  joyful  Christian. 

She  united  with  the  church,  [ind  for  more  than 
twenty  years  has  lived  as  a  happy  believer.  Her 
children  have  grown  up  around  her ;  and  some  of 
them,  the  delight  of  her  heart,  are  the  followers  of 
their  mother's  Saviour  and  their  own. 

But  her  father  returned  to  his  home  and  his  for- 
mer place  of   worship,  professing  still  before  the 


THE     UNIVERS  \LTST    S     DAUOITTKl?.  21 

world  to  believe  in  universal  salvation,  a  falsehood 
which  he  could  not  tell  his  daughter,  when  she  wept 
upon  his  bosom. 

After  her  hopeful  conversion  she  wrote  to  her 
father,  giving  him  a  simple  and  affectionate  account 
of  her  religious  experience,  thanking  him  for  his 
kindness  in  telling  her  his  real  opinion,  and  entreat- 
ing him  to  forsake  a  congregation  where  he  himself 
knew  he  did  not  hear  the  truth — ^beseeching  him  to 
turn  to  Christ,  that  he  might  be  saved  from  ever- 
lasting punishment.  His  reply  to  her  letter  was 
kind,  but  evasive.  He  made  no  response  at  all  to 
the  real  burden  of  her  letter.  She  then  Avrote  to 
him  again.  In  the  most  kind  and  touching  manner 
she  recapitulated  her  experience,  told  him  of  her 
sweet  peace  of  mind,  her  joy  and  hope,  and  asked 
him  whether  he  was  willing  that  she  should  unite 
with  the  Presbyterian  church,  as  she  proposed  to  do, 
or  would  rather  that  she  should  be  a  Universalist. 
In  his  reply,  he  adverted  to  what  he  had  said  to  her 
on  the  morning  when  he  parted  with  her,  and  very 
plainly  assured  her  that  he  would  rather  have  her 
join  the  Presbyterian  church  than  his  own.  But 
still  he  avoided  saying  anything  about  himself. 
Again  she  wrote  to  him,  and  appealing  to  the  decla- 
ration of  that  morning,  and  to  his  letter,  she  affec 
tionately  entreated  him  to  obey  the  truth  as  it  is  in 
Christ  Jesus,  and  not  go  down  to  death  with  a  lie 


22  THE     UNIVERSALIST    S     DAUGHTER. 

in  his  right  hand — a  thing  the  more  dreadful  because 
he  knew  it  was  a  lie ! 

But  all  this  did  no  good.  He  remained  in  the 
Universalist  church.  Though  for  a  time  he  appeared 
to  waver,  and  occasionally  for  some  weeks  together 
would  attend  the  Sabbath  ministrations  of  another 
congregation,  and  sometimes  wrote  to  his  daughter 
in  a  manner  which  encouraged  her  to  hope  he  would 
become  a  Christian;  yet  all  this  passed  away,  and 
the  last  time  she  mentioned  her  father  to  me,  she 
told  me  with  bitter  tears,  "He  has  gone  back  to  the 
Universalists,  and  I  am  afraid  he  Avill  be  lost  for- 
ever!" "Oh !"  says  she,  "he  knows  better — ^they  all 
know  better — ^they  try  to  believe  their  doctrine,  but 
they  don't  believe  it."  I  shrewdly  suspect  there  is 
no  little  truth  in  her  declaration. 

The  course  of  this  man  at  first  appeared  to  me 
very  astonishing.  I  marvelled  at  it  beyond  measure. 
I  could  not  doubt  that  he  told  his  daughter  the  truth, 
when  he  said  he  "thought  it  very  likely  that  some 
would  be  lost  forever."  But  while  entertaining  such 
an  opinion,  and  while  unv,dlling  that  the  daughter 
whom  he  fondly  loved  should  be  a  Universalist, 
that  he  should  himself  still  continue  to  be  a  sup- 
porter of  that  system  of  falsehood,  appeared  to  me 
most  surprising.  But  I  have  ceased  to  wonder  at  it. 
He  only  followed  the  inclination  (as  I  suppose)  of  his 
wicked  heart.     He  did  not  obey  his  conscience.     He 


THE     ITNIVKRS  AF.ISt's     DAUGHTER.  23 

only  strove  to  pacify  it  with  a  delightful  deception. 
He  did  not  love  the  truth.  And  with  some  dark 
and  indefinite  notion  about  the  salvation  of  all,  he 
strove  to  hide  himself  from  the  power  of  the  truth, 
which  he  both  feared  and  hated — ^liated,  because  he 
feared.  Any  man  who  will  be  wicked  and  hardened 
enough  thus  to  trifle  with  truth,  and  thus  to  run 
counter  to  conscience,  and  thus  aim  to  "believe  a  lie," 
may  be  left  to  do  the  same  thing.  Human  depravity, 
fostered  and  indulged,  has  immense  power,  and  will 
lead  in  strange  ways  to  the  eternal  ruin  of  the 
soul. 

Sinners  are  sometimes  kept  from  repentance  by  a 
hindrance  which  they  do  not  suspect.  This  woman 
was.  She  afterwards  recollected,  that  idea  would  come 
floating  over  her  mind,  and  lingering  around  it,  "  Per- 
haps all  will  be  saved."  And  this  it  was  that  half 
stilled  her  fears,  and  half  pacified  her  conscience,  and 
threw  a  sort  of  dimness  and  doubt  over  the  whole 
field  of  religion.  On  this  account  she  lingered  in 
her  sins,  and  away  from  her  Saviour.  She  knew 
not  her  own  heart  till  it  sunk  within  her,  as  her 
delusion  fled.  But  she  soon  came  to  Christ  after 
her  delusion  was  dissipated  by  the  words  wrung 
from  the  conscience  of  her  father  on  that  memorable 
morning,  "Elizabeth,  I  tliink  it  is  very  likely  that 
some  will  be  lost  for  everT 


OR,   AFFLICTION   SANCTIFIED. 

T  KECEIVED  a  very  polite  and  fraternal  note  from 
a  neighboring  clergyman,  wliose  kindness  and  con- 
fidence I  liad  experienced  many  times  before,  desir- 
ing me  to  attend  the  funeral  of  the  only  child  of  a 
gentleman  and  lady,  who  had  formerly  been  attend- 
ants on  his  ministry,  thongh  at  that  time  they  had 
come  to  reside  nearer  to  m}- self  Another  duty  call- 
ed him  to  a  distant  part  of  the  state,  and  he  com- 
mended these  afflicted  parents  to  me.  I  had  never 
seen  them,  and  I  believe  they  had  never  seen  me ; 
but  the  brief  note  which  commended  them  to  me, 
prepared  me  to  have  a  high  respect  for  them,  and  to 
sympathize  in  their  sadness,  as  they  were  now  bereft 
of  the  only  child  they  ever  had. 

The  person  who  brought  me  the  note  and  engaged 
my  services  for  the  funeral,  could  tell  me  but  little 
about  them.  They  were  not  communicants  of  any 
church,  though  my  clerical  friend  in  his  note  gave 
me  to  understand  that  they  were  persons  of  a  seri- 
ous turn  of  mind,  and  at  times  felt  some  personal 


T II  E     L  0  S  T     C  II  I  L  D  .  25 

anxiety,  one  or  both  of  them,  on  the  subject  of  reli- 
gion. 

I  felt  no  hesitation  about  my  duty.  Indeed  I 
could  not  mistake  it,  and  had  no  desire  to  avoid  it. 
But  I  was  burdened  with  the  impression,  that  it  was 
a  difficult  duty  for  me  to  discharge  with  acceptance 
and  propriety.  It  is  a  delicate  thing  to  go  to  stran- 
gers in  the  day  of  their  deep  sadness.  A  friend  may 
carry  the  balm  of  consolation  to  hearts  that  have 
often  opened  to  him,  but  how  can  a  stranger  dare  to 
meddle  with  the  tenderness  of  grief?  I  feared  that 
their  hearts  would  be  shut  up  against  me — must  be 
from  the  very  nature  of  the  case,  or  would  recoil 
from  me  as  an  intruder,  if  I  should  attempt  at  all, 
stranger  as  I  was,  to  meddle  with  the  sacredness  of 
their  sorrow,  or  should  even  try  to  lay  the  consola- 
tion of  heaven's  mercy  upon  the  gTief-spot  of  their 
smitten  bosoms.  And  I  was  the  more  embarrassed, 
on  account  of  what  their  messenger  had  told  me  re- 
specting the  child  they  had  lost.  It  was  a  little  gem 
of  earth,- — a  most  beautiful,  intelligent  and  amiable 
httle  girl,  about  four  years  old,  with  a  maturity  of 
mind  far  beyond  her  years ;  and  her  parents  were 
peculiarly  cast  down,  noAv  when  death  had  snatehed 
her  away.  I  knew  that  I  could  sympathize  with 
them,  but  I  did  not  know  that  they  could  receive 
my  sympatliy.  Affliction  seldom  resorts  to  a  stran- 
ger.    It  seeks  solace  in  solitude,  or  the  sympathy  of 

2 


26  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

some  long-tried  friend.  And  I  was  not  a  little  afraid, 
that  their  tender  and  hallowed  sadness  would  shrink 
from  me,  if  I  should  attempt  even  to  comfort  them. 
Thej  had  no  faith,  as  I  supposed  ;  and  I  knew  that 
nothing  but  the  truths  of  Christianity  could  afford 
them  anything  better  than  a  fictitious  and  deceptive 
comfort,  worse  than  none.  I  knew  that  mere  reason 
would  be  dumb  over  a  corpse, — that  no  philosophy 
could  grapple  with  grief  and  the  grave. 

At  the  hour  appointed  I  went  to  their  house.  It 
was  filled  with  people.  I  spoke  with  the  parents 
for  a  few  moments,  and  before  the  funeral  services 
commenced  there  was  put  into  my  hands  the  follow- 
ing letter : — 

"Dr.  Spencer, 

Eev.  Sir: — We  thought  we  should  like  to 
give  you  a  few  particulars  in  regard  to  our  only 
child.  She  was  of  uncommon  promise,  and  for  her 
age,  possessed  a  mind  much  matured.  During  her 
illness  of  two  weeks  she  was  a  great  sufferer,  without 
murmur  or  complaint.  Her  mind  continued  perfect 
until  the  last,  and  she  would  often  say,  'Mamma, 
comfort  your  little  daughter.' 

"  Previous  to  her  last  sickness  she  had  enjoyed  un- 
usual health  with  a  heart  full  of  mirth,  tenderness 
and  sympathy.  She  was  a  favorite,  and  beloved  by 
all.     We  have  never  known  her  to  speak  an  un- 


T  H  E     L  O  S  T     C  H  I  L  D  .  27 

truth.  She  loved  to  do  right,  and  was  very  consci- 
entious in  regard  to  her  conduct  on  the  Sabbath. 
She  loved  to  talk  of  God  and  heaven,  and  a  few 
weeks  since,  while  an  uncle  was  veiy  ill,  she  said, 
*  Mamma,  when  we  die,  if  God  would  only  take  us 
in  his  arms  and  carry  us  right  up  into  heaven,  so  we 
should  not  have  to  be  put  into  the  dark  coffin,  how 
happy  it  would  be. '     We  trust  she  is  now  there.  " 

*      -X-      * 

I  read  this  affecting  note  (signed  by  both  the  pa- 
rents), and  the  funeral  services  were  conducted  in 
the  usual  manner.  Before  prayer,  I  aimed  to  say 
sucli  things  as  I  thought  might  be  profitable  to  the 
assembled  multitude,  and  such  especially  as  I  had 
some  hope  would  bring  at  least  a  gleam  of  comfort 
to  the  crushed  and  bleeding  hearts  of  these  parents, 
now  stripped  of  their  precious  treasure.  It  was  a 
most  solemn  and  tender  occasion.  The  little  coffin 
was  placed  near  the  folding  doors,  which  open- 
ed between  the  parlors.  I  had  looked  into  it 
just  as  I  entered  the  room.  Its  slumbering  tenant 
was  lovely  even  in  death.  It  looked  as  if  it  were 
asleep,  and  appeared  more  pure  and  beautiful  than  the 
flowers  which  were  placed  beside  it,  and  on  the  cof- 
fin's lid.  But  that  marble  brow  was  cold  ;  and  those 
lily  lips,  which  seemed  as  if  ready  to  utter  some  syl- 
lable of  love,  would  never  speak  again.  I  could  not 
look  upon  it.     I  turned  away  and  wept. 


28  THELOSTCHILD. 

After  the  religious  exercises  were  closed,  I  sat 
where  I  could  see  the  countenances  of  the  multitude, 
who  came  one  after  another  and  looked  into  the 
little  coffin.  I  did  not  see  one  who  turned  away 
without  eyes  suffused  with  tears.  Every  one  was 
affected.  Old  men.  with  stern  and  severe  faces, 
wept  over  it.  And  when  the  parents  came  to  take 
their  last  look,  and  the  mother  bent  down  over  the 
coffin  to  give  her  last  kiss  to  such  a  child,  I  felt 
that  her  heart  must  break.  Tears  streamed  from 
her  eyes ;  her  whole  frame  shook  like  an  aspen 
leaf,  with  the  dreadful  violence  of  her  agitation. 
There  were  no  noisy  ©ut-bursts  of  grief,  but  such  a 
deep  and  dreadful  sorrow  as  seemed  too  much  for 
nature  to  endure.  She  retired  from  the  coffin  sup- 
ported by  lier  husband  ;  and  tear-dimmed  eyes  fol- 
lowed her,  as  she  went  up  to  her  chamber — a  child- 
less mother ! 

Promising  to  call  on  them  the  next  day,  I  left  the 
melancholy  scene;  and  this  sweet  child  was  con- 
veyed to  the  tomb. 

The  next  day  I  called  at  the  house.  Business 
had  compel^^.ed  the  father  to  leave  home,  but  the 
mother  met  me  with  a  heavy  heart.  She  could 
scarcely  utter  a  syllable  for  some  moments.  She 
gave  me  her  hand  with  a  look  of  despair  that  horri- 
fied me ! 

"I  have  called  to  see  you,  madam,"  said  I,  "for 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  29 

I  sympathize  with  you  in  your  heavy  trial,  and  if  I 
could,  I  would  say  something  which  shall  comfort 
you." 

Evidently  struggling  to  conceal  her  emotions,  she 
answered : 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir.  I  feel  very  wretched. 
I  never  expected  such  a  trial  as  this.  Mj  child  was 
everything  to  me.  Our  hearts  were  wrapped  up  in 
her,  and  now  she  is  gone !  I  do  not  know  how  to 
endure  this.  I  cannot  endure  it — I  feel  that  I  ca7i' 
not  /"  and  she  wept  bitterly. 

"It  is  God,  madam,  who  hath  taken  away  your 
child.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  heart  bleeds  for  you. 
I  do  not  blame  you  for  mourning,  and  God  will  not 
blame  you  for  it.  You  cannot  avoid  it,  if  you 
would ;  and  you  would  not,  if  you  could." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  said  she  weeping,  "  she  was  such  a 
lovely  child — so  affectionate  and  intelligent,  and — 
my  all/  She  had  a  maturity  of  mind  far  beyond 
her  years.  I  wanted  you  to  know  something  about 
her  before  the  funeral ;  and  because  we  wished  you 
to  know  something  of  her,  we  wrote  you  that  little 
note." 

"  That  letter,"  said  I,  "  affected  me  very  much.  I 
shall  answer  it  as  soon  as  I  have  time.  It  was  put 
into  my  hands  just  after  I  came  in  here  yesterday, 
and  as  I  glanced  over  it  and  found  her  expression 
about  being  taken  right  up  into  heaven  without 


30  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

being  buried,  I  could  not  repress  my  emotions.  I 
could  scarcely  command  composure  enough  to  con- 
duct the  funeral  exercises  with  propriety.  I  am  sorry 
for  you ; — I  can  weep  with  you ;  but  God  alone  can 
do  you  any  good.  Do  you  think  you  are  submissive 
toHiswHl?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  sir.  I  know  His  will  is  right ; 
but  I  cannot  feel  reconciled  to  it  as  I  ought.  It  is 
such  a  stroke  to  me,  I  know  not  how  to  bear  it.  I 
never  knew  what  affiiction  was  before.  We  were  very 
happy.  I  am  afraid  we  loved  our  child  too  much. 
I  often  thought  how  much  I  had  to  enjoy  in  my  hus 
band  and  my  child ;  but  now  God  has  taken  her  away, 
and  I  am  perfectly  wretched."     She  sobbed  aloud. 

"  My  heart  bleeds  for  you,  my  dear  friend  ;  but 
I  want  you  to  remember,  that  God  only  can  comfort 
you,  or  make  your  affliction  beneficial.  You  must 
not  murmur.  You  must  not  rebel  or  repine.  You 
are  not  forbidden  to  mourn.  I  do  not  blame  your 
grief,  and  do  not  wish  you  to  blame  yourself  for  it; 
but  I  want  you  to  be  satisfied  with  God,  and  especi- 
ally I  want  you  to  be  profited  b}^  your  dreadful  trial. 
God  means  something  hy  sending  it ;  and  I  want  you 
to  ask  Him  what  He  means,  and  be  led  by  this  sad 
providence  nearer  to  Himself,  in  faith  that  rests  on 
Christ  and  will  fit  you  for  another  world.  Do  }- ou 
think  you  have  any  faith  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir.     My  mind  is  all  dark.     I  have  no 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  81 

comfort,  no  peace.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  my  child." 

"I  do  not  blame  you  for  thinking  of  her.  You 
cannot  help  thinking  ;  but  you  ought  to  be  led  by 
this  affliction  to  seek  the  Lord.  Have  you  been 
praying  to  Him  ?" 

''  I  have  tried  to  pray,  sir  ;  but  my  prayers  seem 
almost  like  mockery.  My  thoughts  wander ;  and 
God  seems  to  be  very  far  off.  I  am  entirely  cast 
down.  My  heart  seems  broken,  and  I  think  there 
is  no  comfort  for  me  in  this  world,  now  my  child  is 
gone." 

"I  assure  you,  my  dear  friend,"  said  I,  "I  feel 
your  affliction  deeply  and  tenderly  ;  and  that  makes 
me  the  more  anxious  for  you,  to  have  you  fly  in 
faith  to  that  Saviour,  to  that  God  and  Father,  who 
I  know  has  comfort  for  you,  and  will  lay  the  balm 
of  a  precious  solace  upon  that  deep  sorrow  of  heart, 
which  no  other  friend  can  reach.  Fly  to  Him,  as  a 
child  to  a  father.  He  will  not  cast  you  off.  He  will 
love  and  comfort  you  ;  I  know  He  will." 

"  I  am  very  miserable,"  said  she.  "  It  seems  to  me 
that  my  trial  is  more  than  I  can  endure." 

"  God  will  enable  you  to  endure  it,  and  to  profit 
by  it,  if  you  give  up  sin  and  the  world,  and  betake 
yourself  to  Him  in  faith.  He  invites  you  to  his 
arms  ;  He  wants  you  to  lean  upon  Him  confidingly 
and  affectionately,  as  a  child.     He  asks  you  to  '  cast 


32  THE    LOST   ch:i,d. 

all  your  care  upon  Him/  drawn  by  tlie  power  of 
tliat  blessed  argument,  for  '  He  carethfor  you.''  " 

"  I  do  feel  as  if  I  needed  comfort,"  said  she. 

"  God  only  can  comfort  you,"  I  replied. 

"  My  cldld  was  my  treasure,"  said  she. 

"  Prepare  to  follow  her  to  another  world,  Madam." 

"  I  wish  I  could.  When  you  were  speaking  yes- 
terday at  the  funeral,  your  words  went  to  my  heart. 
It  was  so  sweet  to  think  she  is  happy  now,  and  may 
be  hovering  near  us  to  do  us  good.  I  could  have 
heard  you  speaking  as  you  did  of  my  angel  child  aU 
night — any  length  of  time.  It  gave  me  the  only  com- 
fort I  have,  to  think  she  is  forever  happy  with  God." 

"  Waiting  there,"  said  I,  "to  welcome  you  into 
heaven,  and  rush  into  your  arms  in  a  little  while  ; 
if  you  will  only  give  up  the  world,  and,  as  a  sinner 
to  be  saved,  flee  now  to  the  Saviour  who  calls  you. 
Do  you  mean  to  do  so  ?"     Mournfully  she  replied : 

"  I  hope  I  shall  try.  The  world  all  seems  different 
to  me  now.  I  was  happy  ;  but  now,  all  is  dark  to 
me,  for  this  world  and  the  other  !  I  cannot  think  of 
anything  but  my  lost  child." 

"  Not  lost,  Madam,  not  lost ;  but  gone  before.  Do 
not  think  of  her  as  lost  to  you ;  but  think  of  your 
duty  to  prepare  to  follow  her." 

"I  feel  entirely  discouraged.  If  I  try  to  seek 
God,  it  is  in  vain.  My  prayers  are  not  answered. 
Everything  is  dark.     I  can  think  of  only  one  thing." 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  33 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  I,  "  you  must  not  let  this 
affliction  be  lost  upon  yon.  Turn  now  to  God  with 
all  your  heart.  He  will  pity  you.  He  will  hear  your 
prayers  and  comfort  your  heart,  if  you  will  come  to 
Him  in  faith.     Do  you  intend  to  do  so  ?" 

"  My  thoughts  have  been  directed  to  the  subject 
of  religion,  but  I  cannot  seem  to  have  any  faith. 
All  is  dark  to  me  ;  and  now,  my  loss  is  more  than  I 
know  how  to  bear." 

"  You  cannot  bear  it  rightly,  but  by  the  help  of 
God.  '  In  Me  is  thy  help,'  says  He :  and  you  will 
find  help  there,  if  you  will  only  seek  Him  with  all 
youi'  heart.  He  has  directed  your  attention  to  the 
subject  of  your  salvation  before  ;  and  now  He  has 
given  you  such  an  affecting  call,  that  surely  you 
ought  to  heed  it.  1  hope  you  will.  Go  to  Him — 
tell  Him  all  your  wants  and  sorrows.  He  is  of  in- 
finite love  and  kindness ;  and  you  have  no  need  to 
be  discoui^aged.     He  will  not  let  you  sink." 

Very  much  in  tliis  manner  our  conversation  con- 
tinued for  some  time.  I  strove  to  comfort  her,  for  I 
felt  that  she  had  a  very  sore  trial,  in  which  I  could 
not  but  sympathize  with  her  grief.  She  was  a  per- 
fect pictui-e  of  woe,  if  not  of  entu-e  despair.  Her  in- 
telhgence  too,  and  her  frankness  and  simplicity,  had 
deeply  interested  me  ;  and  I  especially  strove  to  per- 
suade her  to  make  a  just  use  of  her  bitter  affliction. 
But  it  was  very  noticeable  how  her  mind  rested  upon 
2* 


34  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

but  one  thing.  Whatever  I  said,  she  would  come 
round  to  that.  Her  lost  child  absorbed  all  her 
thoughts,  all  her  heart.  If  I  spake  of  God,  her  mind 
would  turn  upon  her  child.  If  I  spake  of  submis- 
sion, it  took  only  a  moment  for  her  to  get  her 
thoughts  turned  back  to  her  child.  If  I  spake  of 
her  duty  to  improve  her  affliction,  or  of  the  kind- 
ness of  God,  or  spake  of  Christ,  or  comfort,  or 
prayer,  or  the  Holy  Spirit,  or  sin,  or  faith,  or  heav- 
en, a  single  expression  would  bring  round  her 
thoughts  to  the  same  melancholy  theme — ^her  lost 
child. 

I  felt  it  to  be  no  easy  thing  to  deal  with  such  a 
heart  rightly.  To  soothe  and  comfort  her  crushed 
spirit,  and  at  the  same  time  to  lead  her  to  make  a 
just  use  of  her  affliction,  appeared  almost  impossible. 
If  I  should  attempt  to  lead  her  mind  off  from  her  lost 
child,  all  a  mother's  heart  would  be  against  me.  If 
I  should  attempt  nothing  more  than  to  condole  with 
her,  she  might  indeed  be  soothed  a  little  by  the 
sympathy,  but  that  soothing  would  not  lead  her  to 
salvation.  I  strove,  therefore,  to  find  some  hold 
upon  her  sensibilities,  some  link  which  should 
unite  her  sorrow  and  her  Saviour ;  which  should  nei- 
ther do  violence  to  a  mother's  bleeding  heart,  nor 
peril  her  everlasting  interests.  And  before  I  left 
her,  one  of  her  own  expressions  had,  as  I  thought, 
furnished  me  what  I  desired.     I  resolved  to  em- 


i 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  36 

ploy  tlie  idea  afterwards — it  was  tlie  idea  of  her 
own  cliild  now  in  heaven. 

Before  I  left  her,  I  pra3'ed  witli  her,  as  she  re- 
quested me  to  do,  that  their  affliction  might  be  sanc- 
tified to  her  and  her  husband. 

As  soon  as  I  was  able,  I  sent  an  answer  to  the 
letter  which  was  given  to  me  at  the  funeral ;  and  in 
the  answer  I  aimed  to  comfort  and  counsel  my  sad 
friends  as  well  as  I  could. 

Pressing  engagements  hindered  my  seeing  her 
again,  except  once  for  a  few  moments,  till  nearly  a 
fortnight  after  the  funeral.  It  was  Saturday  when 
I  called  upon  her  again,  and  found  her,  if  possible, 
more  miserable  than  before.  In  answer  to  my  in- 
quiry, she  replied : 

"  I  feel  perfectly  miserable,  and  there  is  nothing 
that  can  comfort  me.  I  feel  my  loss  more  and  more 
every  day." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  dear  child.  Your  loss 
is  indeed  great,  and  I  do  not  wonder  at  your  feeling 
it.  I  do  not  blame  your  sorrow.  I  should  blame 
you,  if  you  had  none.  God  would  have  you  mourn. 
Jesus  wept  at  the  grave  of  Lazarus,  Avhom  he  loved. 
But  God  can  comfort  you,  and  I  hope  He  will.  The 
Holy  Ghost  is  the  Holy  Comforter.  Have  you  been 
praying  to  Him  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  tried ;  but  my  thoughts  are  wan- 
dering.    It  seems  to  me  that  God  will  not  hear  such 


36  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

prayers  as  mine.  My  mind  is  all  dark.  I  liave 
tried  to  pray,  but  it  does  me  no  good." 

"What  liave  yon  been  praying /or  .^" 

*'  I  have  prayed  tliat  our  affliction  may  be  sanc- 
tified to  us." 

"Do  you  tliink  it  will  be?" 

"I  am  afraid  not.  God  does  not  answer  me,  and 
my  lieart  appears  to  me  to  be  very  hard." 

"Have  you  any  comfort  in  praying?" 

"  No,  none  at  all ;  and  I  am  discouraged  in  trying 
to  seek  God." 

"  You  need  not  be  discouraged.  If  you  seek  Him 
with  your  whole  heart,  He  will  be  found  of  you. 
He  has  promised  that,  and  He  will  be  true  to  his 
word." 

"  But  my  heart  is  so  senseless.  I  try  to  believe, 
but  it  seems  as  if  I  had  no  faith.  I  read  the  Bible, 
but  it  is  dark  to  me.  I  try  to  pray,  but  my  heart  is 
not  in  my  prayers ;  and  I  am  afraid  God  will  never 
hear  me." 

"Do  you  think  you  have  been  led  to  know  and 
feel  that  you  have  a  ivicJ^ed  heart,  and  need  God's 
help  to  make  it  different?" 

"I  know  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  I  do  not./eeZ  it  at 
all ;  and  I  wonder  at  myself." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  feel  it  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  have  prayed  to  be  enabled  to  do 
so.    I  know  I  am  a  sinner,  and  I  wonder  I  do  not 


THELOSTCrilLD.  3*7 

realize  it  more.  I  tliiuk  I  never  liave  had  conviction 
enough." 

"How  mnch  conviction  does  a  sinner  need,  in 
order  to  be  prepared  to  come  to  Christ?  He  needs 
just  to  know  and  feel  that  he  cannot  save  hhnself. 
If  he  knows  he  is  a  lost  sinner,  he  knows  all  the 
truth  about  liimself  that  he  needs  to  know ;  and  he 
ought  instantly  to  accept  the  offers  of  God,  trusting 
Christ  to  save  him.  Do  you  think  you  feel  your 
need  of  the  atonement  that  Christ  has  made  for  sin- 
ners, in  order  that  you  may  be  forgiven  and  saved  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do.     I  can  do  nothing  for  mj^self " 

"Well,  then,  let'  Christ  do  everything  for  you. 
Trust  Him  to  do  everything  for  you.  He  offers  to 
do  everything  for  you.  Come  to  him.  just  as  you  are^ 
with  all  your  sin — with  all  your  darkness — with  all 
your  unworthiness — with  your  cold  and  unbelieving 
heart — and  let  Him  give  you  another  heart.  He 
waits  to  receive  you,  and  your  delaying  is  unneces- 
sary. Your  waiting  to  gain  more  distressful  feel- 
ings about  yourself,  will  not  make  you  any  better 
prepared  to  give  up  the  world  and  trust  in  Him. 
Come  to  him  now — not  to  be  lost,  but  to  be  loved — 
not  to  be  cast  out,  but  to  be  comforted  and  saved. 
Come  now,  while  the  Holy  Spirit  strives  with  you." 

"I  need  His  blessing,"  said  she.  "I  feel  very 
miserable.  God  has  taken  away  the  only  child  I  ever 
had ;  and  I  believe  He  has  done  it  to  show  me  my 


38  THELO  ST     CHILD. 

sins ;  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  in  vain  to  me.     I 
cannot  feel  anything.     My  heart  seems  hardened." 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,  your  child  is  better  off  than 
you ;  and  your  duty  now  is  to  prepare  to  meet  her 
in  heaven.  God  has  spread  a  cloud  of  gloom  over 
this  world,  to  turn  your  heart  to  a  better  one.  But 
you  do  not  give  God  your  heart ;  you  are  still  hesi- 
tating, fearful,  and  unbelieving.  If  you  remain  thus, 
all  your  affliction  will  only  be  lost  upon  you.  I  am 
not  a  little  afraid  it  will.  Do  you  not  know  that 
the  instances  of  conversion  to  Christ  are  far  less  than 
the  number  of  mourners  ? — that  very  few  persons 
are  ever  led  to  religion  by  such  afflictions  ?  Afflic- 
tion goes  everywhere — death  goes  everywhere.  You 
see  it  all  around  you.  '  AVho  has  not  lost  a  friend  V 
Parents  die,  and  children  die ;  and  yet  how  seldom 
it  is  that  the  bereavement  profits  the  living.  Such 
trials  do  Christians  good;  but  they  seldom  bring 
unbelievers  to  true  religion.  You  know  this  is 
true ;  you  see  it  to  be  so  all  around.  And  even  now, 
when  the  only  comfort  you  have  is  to  think  of  the 
little  gem  you  have  lost,  now  a  gem  in  heaven,  I 
am  afraid  your  affliction  will  not  lead  you  to  Christ." 

"  My  heart,"  said  she,  ''  is  very  hard.  I  am  mis- 
erable ;  but  it  seems  to  me  I  cannot  feel  my  sins.  I 
have  tried  to  seek  God,  but  something  keeps  me 
from  thinking  of  anything  but  one." 

"  Give  God  your  heart  just  as  it  is, — ^remember 


I 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  39 

just  as  it  is,  and  let  Him  make  it  feel.  *  Turn  imto 
the  Lord  and  He  will  have  mercy  upon  you,  and  to 
our  God  for  He  will  abundantly  pardon.'  You  must 
have  faith.  You  must  believe  what  He  says  to  you. 
You  must  trust  His  promises,  and  fall  into  His  arms. 
Salvation  is  all  of  grace.  Do  not  wait  for  feeling. 
Have  the  faith  first,  and  let  the  feeling  come  after- 
wards. Keceive  Christ  ns  your  own,  affectionately, 
and  as  a  child  ;  and  then  you  may  expect  your  hard 
heart  will  melt.  The  Holy  Spirit  strives  to  bring 
you  to  this.  *  Now  is  the  accepted  time.'  Flee  to 
Christ  to-day,  and  be  prepared  to  follow  your  child 
to  glory." 

As  her  thoughts  hung  constantly  around  her 
child,  I  aimed,  with  all  my  might,  so  to  connect  the 
idea  of  her  loss  with  the  idea  of  her  personal  obli 
gation  to  religion,  that  she  should  not  be  able  to 
think  of  her  child  without  thinking  of  her  own  sal- 
vation. I  may  not  here  record  all  my  exhortations 
to  her — ^it  would  tire  the  reader.  But  I  strove  to 
make  every  recollection  say  to  her,  "  Prepare  to  meet 
your  child  in  heaven."  I  hunted  her  soul  with  that 
thought,  and  linked  the  thought  with  every  recol- 
lection. I  made  it  come  up  with  every  sigh,  and 
burn  in  every  tear.  I  associated  it  with  the  last  look 
she  took  of  her  child,  and  witl^that  coffin-kiss,  which 
I  thought  would  break  her  heart.  I  wrote  it  upon 
the  little  grave,  and  made  the  green  grass  that  grows 


40  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

over  it  say  to  her,  "  Prepare  to  meet  your  child  in 
heaven."  The  past  uttered  it  to  her,  the  future  ut- 
tered it.  Love,  hope,  disappointment,  grief,  every 
Httle  memorial,  was  made  say  to  her,  "  Prepare  to 
meet  your  child  in  heaven."  I  aimed  to  people  the 
whole  universe  for  her  with  that  one  thought,  "  Pre- 
pare to  meet  your  child  in  heaven."  I  linked  this 
thought  with  the  morning,  the  evening,  the  bed- 
room, the  books,  with  all  this  wilderness  world.  I 
painted  to  her,  her  lost  one  now  bending  over  the 
battlements  of  heaven  and  looking  down  upon  her, 
and  saying,  "  Mother,  Prepare  to  meet  your  child  in 
heaven."  I  represented  to  her  that  lost  child,  now 
perhaps  hovering  around  her  as  a  "  ministering 
spirit"  sent  forth  from  heaven,  in  some  mysterious , 
manner  to  minister  for  her  as  an  "  heir  of  salvation," 
and  waiting  to  carry  the  tidings  of  her  repentance 
on  high,  that  there  might  be  a  new  "joy  in  the 
presence  of  the  angels  of  God." 

After  beseeching  her  in  this  manner  to  fly  to 
Christ,  and  praying  for  her,  I  took  my  leave,  saying 
to  her  with  solemn  tenderness, — "  Prepare  to  meet 
your  child  in  heaven." 

The  next  morning  I  perceived  that  she  and  her 
husband  were  in  church,  and  appeared  very  atten- 
tive to  the  sermon. 

It  was  not  possible  for  me  to  call  upon  her  on 
Monday  or  Tuesday,  as  I  had  intended.     Late  in 


T  H  2     L  O  S  T     C  U  I  L  D  .  41 

the  evening  of  Tuesday,  a  messenger  brouglat  me 
the  following  letter : 

"  Dk.  Spencer, 

Kev.  Sir : — I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  address- 
ing a  few  hnes  to  you.  Allow  me,  in  the  first  place, 
to  tlianh  you  for  your  kindness  and  sympathy  towards 
us,  strangers  as  we  were  to  you.  I  shall  never  for- 
get your  consoling  words ;  they  fell  like  balm  upon 
a  bruised  and  broken  heart.  The  light  and  the  joy 
of  our  home  was  taken;  but  the  fond  hope  which 
your  words  inspired,  that  our  dear  child  '  might  be 
hovering  over  us,  missioned  from  heaven  in  some 
mysterious  manner  to  minister  to  our  spirits,'  seemed 
to  animate  and  encourage  me  not  to  be  Aveary  in  well 
doing.  When  I  saw  j^ou  on  Saturday,  I  felt  that  I 
was  still  far  from  God.  I  had  no  heart  to  read  the 
Bible,  no  heart  to  pray.  I  was  overwhelmed  with 
grief;  my  child  was  gone,  and  what  had  I  to  live 
for?  It  seemed  that  one  thought  had  taken  the 
place  of  every  other ;  but  I  still  continued  to  pray, 
although  my  lips  uttered  words  which  I  thought  my 
heart  did  not  feel.  On  Sabbath  morning,  before 
entering  the  church,  I  prayed  that  God  would  bless 
to  me  the  words  that  I  might  hear  spoken.  '  Faith 
and  grace' — (alluding  to  the  sermon) — "it  was  just 
what  I  most  needed ;  but  the  door  of  my  heart  was 
closed,  and  they  could  not  enter  in.     After  dinner, 


42  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

I  took  up  a  book,  and  one  piece  that  I  read,  '  Wait- 
ing for  Conviction,'  made  me  feel  that  I  was  stand- 
ing in  just  that  position.  I  had  been  relying  upon 
my  own  self-righteousness,  waiting  for  something,  I 
knew  not  what.  I  felt  as  if  you  were  talking  to  me ; 
every  word  came  home  to  my  heart.  I  went  to  my 
room  and  prayed,  as  I  had  never  prayed  before, — 
'  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner.'  I  was  a  good  deal 
cast  down,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  must  not  retire 
to  rest  tliat  night,  until  I  had  made  my  peace  with 
God.  I  passed  a  restless,  weary  night ;  the  words  kept 
sounding  in  my  ears,  '  Prepare  to  meet  your  child 
in  heaven.'  I  could  but  cry.  Lord  have  mercy! 
When  I  awoke  near  morning,  after  a  short  and  rest- 
less sleep,  I  felt  as  if  the  work  must  be  accomplished 
before  another  day  passed  over.  During  the  day,  I 
felt  better,  had  some  comfort  in  reading  the  Bible, 
felt  that  God  had  answered  my  prayers,  unworthy 
as  they  were.  He  had  convicted  me  of  my  sin ;  and 
I  seemed  to  have  more  faith,  but  still  unbelief  held 
its  sway.  I  prayed  earnestly  for  more  faith  and 
grace ;  and  as  I  sat  alone  in  my  room,  the  twilight 
hour,  I  thought  over  all  of  my  past  life.  I  had  done 
nothing  for  God,  and  He  had  done  everything  for 
me.  He  had  given  me  a  most  precious  gift,  and  I 
had  never  once  thanked  the  Giver,  but  went  on  in 
my  own  pride  and  self-love,  building  fond  hope  and 
joy  for  the  far-off  future ;  and  in  a  little  time  she 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  43^ 

was  stricken  from  my  sight.  It  appeared  to  me  that 
God  had  taken  that  means  to  bring  the  parents  to 
repentance ;  and  I  felt  that  it  was  but  right  anji  just. 
While  I  thus  sat  holding  communion  with  my  own 
thoughts,  recalling  the  blessed  promises  of  the  Bible, 
all  at  once  such  light,  and  love,  and  hope,  shone  into 
my  heart,  it  seemed  as  if  I  must  clap  m}^  hands  and 
sing  aloud  a  new  song : 

"  His  loving  kiudness — oh,  how  great !" 

"  I  could  kiss  the  hand  that  had  smitten.     The 

heavy  load  of  sin  is  gone.    Will  you,  dear  sir,  be  kind 

enough  to  call  and  see  me  to-morrow.     I  have  no 

words  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness.     I  am  as  a 

little  child  just  entering  upon  a  new  world,  and  I  am 

afraid  my  feelings  will  not  last." 

*  -^  -x-  * 

In  accordance  with  the  request  contained  in  this 
letter,  I  called  upon  her  the  next  morning.  She 
met  me  with  a  smile  of  gladness.  Her  downcast 
look  Avas  gone — not  a  trace  left  of  that  deep  and  set- 
tled melanchol}^,  which  had  formerly  rested  upon  her 
countenance  and  made  her  such  an  image  of  wo. 
Her  joy  and  peace  seemed  to  have  transformed  her 
into  another  being.  She  was  perfectly  happy. 
Peace  filled  her  heart,  and  her  countenance  was 
lighted  up  with  the  signals  of  an  ecstasy  which  she 
could  neither  repress  nor  conceal      She  was  solemn, 


44  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

but  "her  joy  was  full."  Smiles  of  peace  uubidden 
would  spread,  like  a  beam  of  light,  over  her  features ; 
her  step,  her  mien,  the  whole  woman  was  changed. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you,"  said  she  (with  a  look  and 
in  an  accent  of  rapture),  "  I  want  to  tell  you  how 
happy  I  am.  I  can  bless  God  now.  He  has  been 
very  gracious  to  me,  and  I  can  praise  Him  for  all 
He  has  done.  I  can  see  His  goodness  in  all  my  afflic- 
tion. I  thought,  yesterday,  I  must  go  and  see  you 
and  have  you  rejoice  with  me." 

"  What  makes  you  so  happy  ?"  said  I. 

"  Because  God  has  heard  my  prayers,  and  removed 
my  dreadful  burden  of  sin,  and  given  me  peace  with 
Himself.  I  know  it  is  not  anything  that  /  have 
done — ^it  is  the  mercy  and  grace  of  God.  He  has 
heard  me,  and  given  me  faith  and  love :  I  cannot  be 
grateful  enough." 

"Do  you  think  you  have  faith  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  faith.  I  believe  and  trust  Him, 
for  He  has  shown  me  the  way,  and  brought  me  to 
this  delightful  peace.  I  Avas  very  wretched,  and 
could  not  feel  reconciled ;  but  now  I  see  the  hand 
of  His  kindness  in  it  all.  I  see  the  leading  of  His 
Providence  all  along,  in  sending  us  here  and  direct- 
ing us  to  you.  I  cannot  be  thankful  enough.  I  feel 
YGTj  grateful  to  you  for  your  kindness  to  us  in  our 
affliction.  I  was  afraid  to  have  jon  come  when  my 
child  died.     You  were  a  stranger  to  us,  and  I  did 


THE      LOST     CHILD.  45 

not  know  as  you  could  enter  into  our  feelings ;  but 
when  I  heard  you  speak  at  the  funeral,  my  fears 
vanished ;  and  when  you  came  afterwards  and  talked 
to  me,  I  thought  God  had  sent  us  here,  and  taken 
away  our  child,  on  purpose  to  have  us  led  to  repent- 
ance.    I.  thank  you  for  all  jou  have  done." 

"  Do  you  love  God  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do.  I  cannot  thank  Him  enough.  I 
can  submit  to  His  will  now,  though  my  loss  is  so 
great.     I  see  He  meant  it  for  my  good." 

"Does  your  heart  rest  on  Christ  alone  to  save 
you?" 

"  Yes,  I  trust  Him  entirely.  I  have  nothing  else 
to  trust  in.  I  know  I  am  a  great  sinner ;  but  He 
has  heard  me,  and  answered  me.  He  has  set  my 
heart  at  rest." 

"  Have  you  this  peace  of  mind  and  joy  in  God, 
all  the  time  ?" 

"  Sometimes,  I  am  afraid  I  am  deceived  for  a 
little  Avhile ;  but  the  most  of  the  time  I  am  very 
happy.  At  first,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  restrain  my 
feelings.  I  did  not  want  to  come  down  to  tea :  I 
was  afraid  they  would  think  me  crazy,  for  I  knew  I 
could  not  conceal  my  joy,  my  looks  would  betray  me, 
and  I  was  afraid  I  should  lose  my  happy  feelings. 

"I  want  you  to  see  my  young  friend.  I  want 
you  to  tell  her  that  she  has  only  to  come  to  Christ, 
that  she  '  need  not  wait  to  get  ready'  as  you  told  vie 


46  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

on  Saturday.  It  all  seems  to  me  so  easy  now — only 
to  come  to  God  in  faith — not  wait  to  get  ready.  I 
wonder  people  do  not  see  it.  I  wonder  that  I  did 
not  see  it  before.  But  I  had  not  faith.  Now  I  can 
see  the  way  all  clear ;  and  this  light  and  peace  with 
God  make  me  very  happy.  I  feel  my  loss  and  can- 
not but  weep ;  but  I  know  God  has  done  it  for  my 
good,  and  I  am  resigned  and  happy.  I  thank  and 
praise  Him  for  his  kindness." 

"  Have  you  any  doubts  or  fears  to  trouble  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  at  times,  for  a  little  while ;  but  when 
I  go  to  God  in  prayer,  my  joy  returns.  Sometimes, 
I  am  afraid  my  feelings  are  not  the  right  ones,  and 
that  I  am  deceived.  I  know  my  heart  is  deceitful ; 
but  I  trust  in  God,  and  then  I  am  happy.  I  feel  as 
if  I  was  a  little  child,  and  want  to  be  led.  I  have 
only  just  begun  to  learn.  I  know  but  very  little, 
and  I  am  afraid  these  joyful  feelings  will  not  last. 
God  has  afflicted  me,  but  now  He  comforts  me." 

"  You  recollect  I  told  you  on  Saturday  that  such 
afflictions  were  very  seldom  of  any  benefit  to  unbe- 
lievers." 

"  I  know  you  did,  and  it  made  me  feel  very  sad." 

"But  you  know  it  is  true,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  it  is  true,  a  great  many  have  lost 
children,  and  never  came  to  repentance ;  and  that 
made  me  feel  the  more  anxious  to  improve  the  time." 

Again  and  again,  when  I  saw  her,  she  conversed 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  47 

in  the  same  happy  strain,  affectionate,  grateful,  and 
simple-liearted  as  a  cliild.  She  was  peculiarly  de- 
sirous that  other  members  of  her  family  should  have 
the  same  faith  and  peace  of  mind  which  made  her 
so  happy.  She  told  them  how  she  felt,  with  an  ear- 
nestness, affection,  and  simplicity  which  could  not 
be  surpassed,  and  with  the  manifest  impression  fixed 
upon  her  mind  that  salvation  was  freely  offered  to 
them,  and  they  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  believe  it 
and  accept  the  offer. 

As  I  was  talking  with  her  at  one  time,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  3^oung  woman  in  whom  she  felt  a  deep 
interest,  and  to  whom  she  had  done  me  the  favor  to 
introduce  me,  I  thought  many  of  her  expressions 
must  reach  the  young  woman's  heart.     I  asked  her, 

"Do  you  still  feel  the  same  happiness  that  you 
have  had  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  most  of  the  time.  Sometimes  I  have 
a  little  darkness,  but  it  soon  passes  away  and  my 
happy  feelings  return.  Grod  answers  my  prayers. 
I  go  to  him  for  everything.  I  have  just  begim.  I 
am  a  little  child,  and  want  to  be  led  all  the  time.  I 
want  some  one  to  teach  me  whether  my  feehngs  are 
right.     But  I  feel  very  happy." 

Said  I,  "  I  wish  to  ask  you  one  question.  You 
have  given  some  attention  to  the  subject  of  religion 
before  this  time.  It  has  often  been  on  your  mind, 
and  you  have  tried  to  seek  the  Lord.     And  after 


48  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

your  child  died,  you  were  for  some  time  in  great 
distress  and  darkness.  Now  I  wish  to  ask  you  this 
question :  What  kept  you  so  long  in  darkness — what 
hindered  you  that  you  did  not  come  to  Christ  sooner  ?" 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  "  I  \y Si's, self-righteous:  I  did  not  have 
faith  :  I  was  trying  to  do  something  for  myself,  to  get 
ready  to  trust  in  God." 

The  eyes  of  the  young  woman  filled  mth  tears, 
her  breast  heaved  with  emotion,  and  I  could  not 
but  hope  that  the  truth,  which  I  had  elicited  from 
the  lips  of  her  happy  friend,  would  lead  her  to  a  hap- 
piness as  precious.  At  least,  she  was  taught,  that 
she  need  not  "  wait  to  get  ready ^ 

Notwithstanding  the  severity  of  her  affliction,  this 
bereaved  mother  was  uniformly  happy.  She  seemed 
to  live  on  high.  In  prayerful  communion  with 
God  and  in  contemplation  of  heaven,  she  spent  her 
days  in  peace.  She  could  not  forget  her  child,  and 
she  could  not  cease  to  mourn ;  but  her  grief  for  her 
loss  was  mingled  with  joy  in  God,  and  many  times 
have  I  seen  tears  and  smiles  blended-  together  on 
her  expressive  countenance.  She  was  a  most  affec- 
tionate mother.  She  loved  deeply  and  tenderly. 
Her  peace  of  mind,  her  submission  and  joy,  were  not 
in  the  least  the  results  of  a  stupid  or  a  stoical  heart ; 
but  they  were  the  gift  of  God,  and  in  the  exercise  of 
them  she  was  no  less  tender  and  affectionate  as  a 
Christian  than  she  was  as  a  mourning  mother. 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  49 

Her  deep  and  tender  solicitude  for  lier  irreligious 
friends  was  a  most  interesting  feature  in  her  cliarac- 
ter.  From  tlie  commencement  of  her  seriousness,  I 
had  aimed  to  awaken  in  her  heart  an  interest  in  the 
salvation  of  others.  Several  of  her  "  nearest  and 
dearest  friends"  were,  as  she  said,  still  in  unbelief. 
From  the  first,  she  manifested  much  interest  in  their 
eternal  welfare  ;  but  before  the  time  when  she  came 
to  her  own  sweet  hope  in  Christ,  her  thoughts  seemed 
to  be  called  back  from  them  to  herself,  and  she 
found  an  almost  insuperable  obstacle  in  her  way, 
whenever  she  attempted  anything  for  them,  even  in 
prayer.  Her  thoughts  w^ere  drawn  back,  and  her 
feelings  were  borne  down  by  the  sadness  and  gloom 
of  her  own  mind.  But  after  she  came  out  of  that 
gloom,  her  heart  turncl  to  the  subject  of  their  salva- 
tion with  much  tenderness  and  strength  of  affection. 
She  was  not  only  willing,  but  prompt  and  joyful  to 
second  any  of  my  attempts  to  bring  them  to  Christ. 

A  few  weeks  after  she  began  to  find  Christ .  her 
refuge,  she  expressed  some  of  her  reflections  in  the 
following  letter : 

"Dr.  Spencer, 

Rev.  Sir : — I  will  intrude  upon  your  time  but  for 

a  few  moments.     We  have  been  looking  for  a  visit 

from  you  for  some  days.     It  has  been  so  pleasant  to 

have  you  come  in  and  see  us,  that  it  really  seems  as 

8 


50  T  H  E     L  O  S  T     C  H  I  L  D. 

if  you  had  almost  forgotten  us.  I  shall  ever  hold 
in  grateful  remembrance  your  kindness  to  me ;  and 
those  consoling  words  which  feel  like  balm  upon  my 
bruised  and  sorrowful  heart,  will  never  be  forgotten. 
They  were  the  first  words  that  made  me  feel  deeply ; 
and  through  Grod  I  feel  that  you  have  been  the  in- 
strument of  opening  my  eyes — '  whereas  I  Avas  once 
blind,  but  now  I  see.'  Oh,  how  beautiful  is  the 
plan  of  salvation!  to  be  redeemed,  to  be  bought 
with  the  price  of  a  Saviour's  blood,  to  be  justified, 
adopted,  and  sanctified !  to  call  God  our  Father !  and 
when  our  hearts  go  forth  to  Him  in  prayer,  to  feel 
that  He  is  so  near  to  us !  Oh,  that  I  may  be  wholly 
His!  My  earnest  desire  is  to  be  a  whole-souled 
Christian,  not  a  half  undecided  one.  When  I  look 
at  my  poor  sinful  heart,  so  prone  to  wander,  so  vile, 
and  so  full  of  sin,  I  almost  despair,  sometimes,  of  ever 
attaining  the  only  worthy  end  for  which  to  live ;  but 
with  God  all  things  are  possible,  and  I  can  but  pray 
to  be  purified — '  wash  me,  and  I  shall  be  whiter  than 
snow.'  I  have  spent  many  calm  and  peaceful  hours 
in  my  retirement,  communing  with  my  own  thoughts 
and  with  God,  thinking  of  my  angel  child  as  she 
walks  the  golden  streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 
Hers  was  a  bright  and  joyous  spirit  on  earth,  and 
how  much  more  bright  and  beautiful  there.  Heaven 
does  not  seem  so  far  off  as  it  once  did. 

"  I  often  ask  myself  when  the  time  comes  for  me 


r  HE     LOST     CHILD.  ^1 

to  mingle  again  with  the  world,  if  my  heart  will  be 
as  near  to  God  as  it  is  now.  I  hope  that  He  will 
ever  guide  mc.  I  must  watch  and  pray.  Prayer 
and  the  precious  Bible  must  be  my  refuge.  How 
beautifully  the  hymn, 

*  Jesus  lover  of  my  soul,' 

warms  the  heart,  and  makes  it  feel  indeed,  that 

'  Thou,  Oh  Christ,  art  all  I  want, 
All  iu  all  iu  thee  I  fiud,' 

God  has  supported  and  directed  me.     He  seems 

to  know  just  what  I  most  need. 

*  *  *  -x-  * 

"But  it  seems  to  me  that  I  know  too  little  of 
divine  truth.  I  want  to  be  fed  with  the  bread  of 
life,  to  drink  deeper  from  the  fountains  of  living 
waters.  My  health  has  been  such  that  I  have  not 
been  able  to  attend  divine  service,  and  I  thirst  for 
more  knowledge  of  the  Bible. 

*  w  *  ^  * 

"  '  How  beautiful  are  the  feet  of  him  that  bringeth 
good  tidings ;  that  publisheth  salvation.'  I  know, 
my  dear  sir,  that  you  have  often  been  made  very 
happy,  and  have  felt  doubly  paid  for  all  the  toil  and 
trouble,  when  sinners  have  come  to  you  with  faith 
and  joy  beaming  in  their  countenance,  and  told  you 
that  they  had  found  their  God.     My  request,  there- 


52  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

fore,  will  not  afflict  you,  though  it  should  add  to 

your  labors. 

-:f  -jf  •«•  -x-  -x- 

"I  know  your  time  is  much  occupied,  and  you 
will  please  pardon  my  intrusion  upon  you." 

I  visited  her  often.  It  was  delightful  to  witness 
her  joy.  She  seemed  to  live  in  the  sunshine  of  peace. 
Seldom  were  her  skies  overcast ;  and  when  a  cloud 
did  darken  her  heavens,  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  and 
only  served  to  make  the  returning  light  more  sweet. 

"I  have  sometimes  a  little  darkness,"  said  she. 

"  And  what  do  you  do  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  pray  to  God,  and  the  light  returns." 

*'  Do  you  love  to  pray  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  always  love  to  pray.  It  seems  to  me 
such  a  precious  privilege.  Whenever  I  am  sad, 
thinking  of  my  child,  or  my  mind  is  downcast,  I 
find  that  when  I  pray,  God  answers  me  and  I  am 
comforted.  I  just  go  to  Him  with  my  trouble.  It 
is  a  precious  privilege." 

"  Have  you  ever  any  doubt  whether  God  has  given 
you  a  new  heart  ?" 

"At  times  I  have,  for  a  little  while.  But  the 
most  of  the  time  I  cannot  doubt ;  I  have  such  sweet 
peace  in  thinking  of  God,  Christ  is  so  precious  to 
me,  and  all  my  feelings  are  so  different  from  what 
they  used  to  be.    I  know  I  am  still  a  sinner.     I  sin 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  53 

every  hour ;  and  I  know  my  lieart  is  deceitful ;  but 
I  trust  in  Christ,  and  God  comforts  me  with  hope." 

Such  were  her  feelings  week  after  week.  Her 
joy  was  full.  Her  faith  appeared  to  grow  stronger, 
and  while  her  humility  became  more  deep,  the  ten- 
derness of  her  love  and  her  confiding  became  more 
and  more  peaceful. 

When  our  communion  season  came,  she  did  not 
unite  with  the  church.  She  thought  it  best  to  defer 
the  public  profession  of  her  faith  for  a  time.  But 
she  was  present  at  the  administration  of  the  ordi- 
nance of  the  Lord's  Supper.  A  day  or  two  after- 
wards I  called  upon  her,  and  she  adverted  to  it  with 
a  very  manifest  delight. 

Said  she,  "  I  had  a  happy  day  last  Sunday.  When 
I  saw  those  young  persons  come  forward  to  unite 
with  the  church,  I  longed  to  be  with  them.  I 
thought  it  would  be  such  a  privilege,  to  confess  my 
faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  aim  to  honor 
Him  before  so  many  people.  And  when  the  mem- 
bers of  the  church  were  partaking  of  the  bread  and 
wine,  they  all  appeared  so  solemn  and  happy,  I  won- 
dered that  anybody  could  stay  away.  It  was  the 
happiest  day  I  ever  saw.  I  thought  the  Lord  was 
there  to  comfort  his  people.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
they  had  the  peace  of  heaven ;  and  I  hoped  the  time 
would  come,  when  I  should  myself  be  with  that 
great  company  and  partake  of  their  joy." 


54  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

"  Such  occasions,"  said  I,  "  have  been  profitable 
seasons  to  us." 

"  Oh,  I  think  they  must  be,"  said  she.  "  Though  I 
was  only  a  spectator,  I  felt  it  was  good  for  me  to  be 
there  ;  and  I  did  not  wonder,  when  you  said,  that 
you  scarcely  recollected  a  communion  season,  when 
there  was  not  at  least  some  one  sinner  awakened  to 
seek  the  Lord.  It  seems  to  me,  that  nobody  could 
have  witnessed  the  exercises  of  last  Sunday  un- 
moved. I  should  think  that  every  spectator  would 
be  convinced  of  the  presence  of  Christ,  and  the  hap- 
piness of  communion  with  him.  I  look  forward 
with  delight  to  the  time  when  I  shall  come  myself 
to  that  solemn  spot,  and  give  awaj^  myself  to  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

In  due  time,  she  did  come.  Years  have  since 
rolled  away,  and  she  still  lives  a  happy  believer — 
one  of  the  few,  whom  bereavement  has  called  out 
of  the  world's  allurements,  and  aided  towards  Christ 
and  heaven. 

If  this  publication  should  ever  meet  her  eye,  I 
am  aware  it  may  open  afresh  the  fountains  of  her 
grief,  and  that  is  the  only  idea  which  makes  me 
hesitate  about  giving  this  narrative  to  the  world. 
But  I  am  sure  she  will  know  that  it  is  not  in  my  heart 
to  afflict  her,  by  exposing  to  the  world  the  sacred- 
ness  of  her  sorrow,  or  by  recalling  to  her  mind  a  scene 
which  grief  burnt  upon  her  memory  ;  and  I  am  sure 


THE     LOST     U  III  LD.  66 

she  will  pardon  me  tlic  liberty  I  have  taken,  when 
she  shares  with  me  the  hope,  that  some  mourning 
mother  will  be  led  to  Christ  by  this  narrative  of  the 
LOST  CHILD — not  lost,  but  gone  before. 

'Twas  a,  gem  fit  for  love,  'twas  the  gift  of  her  God, 

But  no  thanks  did  the  gift  e'er  excite  ; 
Death  snatched  it  awaj — she  sunk  under  the  rod  ! 

All  her  world  was  a  chaos  of  night ! 

Then  there  whispered  a  voice  from  the  laud  of  the  blest, 

Oh  my  Mother,  my  Mother  !  on  high 
I  wait  to  receive  thee  to  this  laud  of  sweet  rest — 

Oh  my  Mother,  prepare  thee  to  die, 

Tm  not  in  tlie  dark  coffin,  Chi-ist  spread  his  arms  round  me, 

I  awoke  'mid  this  light  and  this  love, 
"Where  the  bright  beams  of  heaven  spread  their  glory  around  me. 

For  /died  to  allure  thee  above. 

She  heard  it ;  she  felt  that  attraction  of  heaven, — 

It  was  peace :  she  can  now  kiss  the  rod  ; 
She  flew  to  her  Christ — she's  a  sinner  forgiven: — 

They  shall  meet  in  the  bosom  of  God 

This  is  one  of  the  few  instances  that  have  come 
within  my  own  knowledge,  wherein  the  sorrows  of 
mourning  have  been  of  any  lasting  spiritual  benefit 
to  an  unbeliever.  To  God's  people  bereavements 
and  sorrows  arc  sanctified.  This  is  general,  if  not 
universal.  Our  observation  can  behold  it,  and  we 
often  hear  the  testimony  from  their  own  lij^s.  But 
to  the  '  children  of  this  world,'  their  days  of  mourn- 
ing are  very  much  in  vain.     They  can  bury  their 


66  THE     LOST     CHILD. 

friends,  and  with  a  depth  and  tenderness  and  bitter- 
ness of  mourning  weep  over  their  loss ;  but  in  a  few 
brief  days  their  hearts  turn  back  again  upon  the 
world,  and  they  go  on  as  carelessly  and  gaily  as 
before.  The  place  of  the  funeral  is  a  very  hopeless 
place  for  preaching  the  gospel  to  unbelievers.  I 
recollect  but  two  instances  before  this,  in  a  ministry 
of  more  than  twenty  years,  in  which  anything  that 
I  ever  said  at  a  funeral  has  been  the  means  of  arous- 
ing and  leading  to  Christ  a  single  impenitent  sinner. 
The  hope  which  irreligious  persons  so  frequently 
indulge,  that  some  future  affliction,  when  it  shall 
come,  the  loss  of  some  loved  and  valued  friend,  will 
lead  them  to  religion,  is  almost  universally  a  hope 
of  entire  vanity  and  deception.  They  do  not  know 
their  own  hearts.  Both  observation  and  experience 
prove  such  a  hope  to  be  delusive.  Bleeding  hearts 
are  not  necessarily  j^enitent  ones.  Among  himdreds 
whom  I  have  heard,  at  the  time  of  their  reception 
into  the  church,  giving  an  account  of  the  manner  in 
which  they  had  been  led  to  religion,  I  recollect  only 
two,  who  mentioned  the  death  of  a  friend  as  the 
means  of  leading  them  to  seek  God.  The  member 
of  a  family  dies,  but  the  survivors  do  not  become 
pious.  Indeed,  so  common  is  this — such  an  ordinary 
historical  fact,  that  scarcely  a  man  among  us  can 
point  to  a  single  instance,  where  the  doings  of  death 
and  the  effectual  workings  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  con- 


THE     LOST     CHILD.  67 

vert  to  Christ,  have  gone  side  by  side.  Indeed, 
unbelieving  hearts  crushed  with  a  burden  of  sorrow 
in  the  dark  and  dreadful  days  of  mourning,  are  more 
apt  to  be  injured  than  benefited,  by  the  bitterness 
of  their  sad  experience. 

I  knew  of  a  woman,  many  years  since,  whose  at- 
tention had  been  earnestly  directed  to  the  subject 
of  religion,  and  who,  for  some  weeks,  had  been 
prayerfully  attempting  to  seek  the  Lord ;  when  she 
was  suddenly  summoned  to  the  death-bed  of  one  of 
her  children  in  a  neighboring  state.  She  came  home 
from  the  funeral  of  that  child ;  and  immediately  after 
her  return,  several  other  relatives  of  her  own  family 
were  brought,  disfigured  corpses,  to  her  house,  hav- 
ing been  killed  by  the  explosion  of  the  boiler  on  a 
steamboat.  No  one  could  have  been  more  shocked, 
or  more  deeply  plunged  into  anguish  than  was  she. 
"  Now,"  says  she  (referring  to  her  loss,  a  day  or  two 
afterwards),  "  I  give  up  the  world ;  it  is'nothing  to  me 
any  longer."  But  when,  by  the  lapse  of  time,  her 
grief  had  somewhat  lost  its  poignancy,  her  serious- 
ness was  all  gone.  Iler  grief  had  dissipated  her  re- 
ligious anxiety ;  she  had  forgotten  the  subject  of  her 
salvation ;  and  relapsing  into  her  former  indifierence, 
she  went  on  for  months  and  months  in  her  irreligion 
and  prayerlessness,  as  unconcerned  as  ever. 

Such  things  appear  strange  and  wonderful  to 
many  people.     At  the  first  thought,  probably,  such 


58  THE     LOST    CHILD. 

a  thing  appears  wonderful  to  everybody.  But  I 
tliink  it  is  a  thing  susceptible  of  a  very  intelligible 
explanation.  Sorrow  leads  the  mind  one  way,  and 
seriousness  about  salvation  leads  it  quite  another. 
Grief  for  a  lost  friend  is  one  thing,  and  grief  on  ac- 
count of  sin  is  quite  another  thing.  When  a  sinner 
is  seeking  salvation,  his  thoughts  are  turned  upon 
his  sins,  his  soul,  his  eternity,  his  God  and  Saviour ; 
but  when  he  is  overwhelmed  with  personal  affliction 
and  sorrow,  his  thoughts  are  turned  upon  his  loss. 
Then,  it  is  not  his  sin  that  troubles  him,- — ^no,  he  is 
just  thinking  of  his  loved-one  dead,  his  child,  his 
sister,  or  his  father  taken  from  him,  and  now  buried 
in  the  deep,  dark  grave.  His  mind  is  now  called 
off  from  the  state,  the  guilt,  and  danger  of  his  own 
immortal  soul,  from  his  need  of  Christ  to  save  him, 
and  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  'renew  a  right  spirit 
within  him.'  Whatever  it  may  be,  that  leads  him 
to  forget  his  sins,  does  him  an  injury.  Any  diver- 
sion of  his  thoughts  to  a  new  channel,  does  him  an 
injury.  The  channel  may  be  more  dark — more  dis- 
tressful— more  dreadful  to  him;  but  his  attention 
has  become  diverted  to  a  new  object,  and  that  '  one 
thing  needful'  is  at  present  crowded  away  into  the 
back-ground  of  his  contemplations,  or  forgotten  en- 
tirely. And  hence,  the  deeper  his  sorrow,  the  more 
dangerous  its  influence  becomes.  His  af&iction  just 
makes  him  forget  his  sins,  and  his  soul. 


THE     LOST     C  II  IT.  D.  59 

And  tlms  it  is,  as  I  suppose,  that  we  behold,  all 
over  the  world,  the  mourning  of  unbelievers  so 
generally  unattended  or  followed  by  any  religious 
benefits.  Their  thoughts  arc  on  their  loss — their 
earthly  loss.  The  death  of  their  friend  has  spread 
a  glooom  over  the  world.  Their  house  lacks  an 
inmate, — their  heai't  lacks  a  friend  to  lean  upon, 
along  the  pilgrimage  of  life.  Another  star  has  gone 
out,  and  left  a  dark  spot  in  their  heavens,  which 
once  appeared  so  bright  and  beautiful  to  their  eye. 
A  seat  is  left  vacant  at  the  fire-side, — a  friend  is 
absent  from  the  table, — a  familiar  voice  is  missed  in 
the  family-circle.  But  all  these  are  earthly  gxiefs. 
They  are  not  spiritual  ones  to  an  unbeliever.  The 
mourning  unbeliever  never  much  prized  his  now 
lost  friend,  as  an  aid  to  his  holiness  and  salvation ; 
— he  prized  him  only  for  earthly  reasons.  He  never 
loved  the  lost  one  as  a  companion  to  go  hand  in 
hand  with  him  to  Jerusalem,  or  along  the  vales  of 
Palestine,  amid  the  fragrance  and  beauty  of  'the 
rose  of  Sharon  and  lily  of  the  valley.'  He  never 
loved  his  companionship,  because  his  lips  were 
vocal  with  the  melody  of  '  another  country,  even  an 
heavenly,'  which  he  hoped  to  reach; — but  simply 
because  his  companionship  made  earth  more  pleas- 
ant, not  heaven  more  near.  And,  therefore,  when 
death  has  snatched  away  this  now  lost  companion, 
only   an   earthly   sorrow  takes  possession  of  the 


00  THELOSTCHILD. 

heart,  just  tliat  '  sorrow  of  the  world  which  work- 
eth  death.'  And  when  he  turns  away  from  the 
grave  of  his  buried  friend,  or,  in  the  dark  days  that 
follow,  thinks  of  him  so  mournfully,  the  whole  effect 
of  his  sorrow  is  just  to  make  the  world  more  dreary ; 
not  the  world  to  come,  more  gladsome  and  inviting. 
If  he  had  lived  Avith  his  friend  as  a  Christian,  it 
would  have  been  very  different  with  him  now,  when 
his  friend  is  no  more ;  and  the  death  he  deplores 
would  have  made  his  thoughts  hang  more  fondly 
around  the  religious  things,  in  which  he  and  his 
friend  used  to  aid  and  comfort  one  another.  But  he 
did  not ; — ^he  was  an  unbeliever  {himself,  whatever 
his  lost  friend  may  have  been) ;  and,  therefore,  the 
death  which  has  saddened  him,  just  confines  his 
thoughts  to  this  dark  and  dreary  world,  instead  of 
leading  them  towards  the  world  of  immortality. 

God  is  infinitely  willing  to  sanctify  to  men  their 
sorrows,  and  bring  the  beams  of  gladness  over  the 
dark  days  of  their  mourning.  But  men  misuse 
their  times  of  sorrow.  The  sad  history  of  thou- 
sands of  hearts  that  have  bled,  demonstrates  but  too 
plainly  this  melancholy  truth, — our  piety  seldom 
springs  from  the  grave  tliat  our  tears  have  watered. 


OR,    PERSEVERANCE. 

The  most  remarkable  instance  of  protracted  and 
determined  perseverance  in  seeking  God,  tliat  has 
ever  come  within  my  knowledge,  was  that  of  a 
young  married  woman,  whose  seriousness  commenc- 
ed soon  after  I  visited  her  at  her  own  house,  for  the 
first  time.  The  conversation  that  I  then  had  with 
her,  as  she  afterwards  told  me,  "  led  her  to  make  up 
her  mind  that  she  would  seek  the  Lord,  and  would 
not  stop,  till  she  believed  her  salvation  was  secure." 
The  one  consideration,  and  so  far  as  I  could  ever 
ascertain,  the  only  one,  which  had  any  special  in- 
fluence to  lead, her  to  form  this  resolution  and  begin 
to  act  upon  it,  was  taken  from  the  assurance  I  gave 
her  in  my  first  conversation  with  her,  that  salvation 
was  within  her  reach, — that  she  might  be  a  Chris- 
tian if  she  would, — that  she  would  not  seek  the 
Lord  in  vain,  if  she  only  sought  Him  with  all  her 
heart.  "  You  told  me,  sir,"  said  she  to  me,  years 
afterwards,  "  I  should  not  seek  God  in  vain.  Your 
words  were  (I  remember  it  well  and  always  shall\ 


62  THESTORMYNIGHT. 

^  IMow^  Mrs.  E ,  tliat  you  will  be  saved,  if  you 

seek  God  with  all  your  heart.'  " 

She  tried  to  do  so.  She  came  to  m}^  house  for 
conversation  with  me  about  her  salvation,  almost 
every  Sabbath  evening  for  nearly  two  years.  In 
the  depth  of  winter,  on  a  cold,  stormy  night,  the 
wind  blowing  violently,  the  snow  drifting  into  the 
path,  in  places  more  than  two  feet  in  depth  (as  I 
found  on  accompanying  her  home), — one  of  the  most 
unpleasant  and  even  terrific  nights  for  a  woman  to 
be  abroad ;  she  came  nearly  half  a  mile  to  my 
house,  alone.  As  I  opened  the  door  for  her  admis- 
sion that  stormy  night,  I  uttered  an  expression  of 

surprise,  "  why,  Mrs.  E !  are  you  here  on  such 

a  night  ?"  And  I  shall  never  forget  the  severe,  de- 
served rebuke,  which  she  unwittingly  gave  me,  many 
months  afterwards,  in  reference  to  that  expression. 
"  It  stumbled  me,"  says  she ;  "  I  did  not  know  what 
to  make  of  it.  You  had  invited  us  there,  and  I 
thought  you  would  be  expecting  me.  I  thought 
you  ought  not  to  be  surprised  to  see  me  there,  if 
sinners  were  in  danger  of  the  everlasting  wrath  of 
God  and  might  escape  it,  as  3^ou  had  preached  that 
day.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  get  over 
that  stumbling-block.  I  thought,  if  yow  had  believed 
what  you  preached,  and  felt  about  it  as  I  did,  you 
would  expect  to  see  me.  I  know  it  was  a  stormy 
night  and  T  was  afraid ;  but  I  kept  thinking  as  T 


THE     STORMY     NIGHT.  68 

went,  tliat  tlic  day  of  judgment  would  bring  a 
worse  storm,  as  you  said  once  in  your  sermon — 
*  liail-stoncs  and  coals  of  fire.' "  This  she  said  to 
me  more  than  a  year  afterwards,  and  after  she  had 
attained  hope  in  the  mercy  of  God  through  Christ 
Jesus. 

At  the  same  time,  she  told  me  another  thing, 
which  added  keenness  to  her  unintentional  rebuke. 
She  said,  that  her  husband  (at  this  time  an  irreli- 
gious man),  was  very  unwilling  that  she  should  ven- 
ture out  on  that  stormy  night,  and  strong!}^  urged 
her  to  stay  at  home,  when  he  found  she  proposed 
to  go.  "  But,"  says  she,  *'  he  told  me  afterwards 
that  my  going  to  your  house  that  night,  was  the 
first  thing  which  brought  him  to  reflection ;  for  he 
thought  there  must  be  something  about  sin  and  re- 
ligion which  he  did  not  know  anything  about,  if  I 
would  go  to  your  house  in  such  a  storm,  all  alone. 
I  did  not  know  it  at  that  time  ;  but  when  he  told 
me  afterwards,  1  remembered  that  he  looked  very 
cross  when  I  came  home,  and  I  thought  he  was  angry 
because  I  went.  But  I  was  not  going  to  mind  that. 
I  knew  I  had  done  rightly,  and  I  was  not  going  to 
let  anything  turn  me  aside  from  trying  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian. And  don't  you  remember,  three  Sunday 
nights  after  that,  he  came  to  your  house  with  me  ?" 

Month  after  month,  this  woman's  deep  anxiety 
continued.    I  never  could  discover  why  she  lingered 


64  THE     STORMY     NIGHT. 

SO  long  in  her  unbelief.  Again  and  again,  I  aimed 
witli  all  possible  carefulness  to  tell  her  all  the  truths 
of  the  gospel,  and  to  discover  what  error,  sin  or  temp- 
tation, kept  her  from  repentance  and  peace  with  God. 
But  I  never  could  discover  her  hindrance :  and  she 
never  could  tell  me,  then  or  afterwards,  of  any  diffi- 
culty or  temptation,  which  had  troubled  her,  except 
the  expression  I  made  to  her  on  that  stormy  night. 
And  in  justice  to  her  I  ought  to  say,  that  she  did 
not  mention  that  as  having  been  a  hindrance,  though 
she  called  it  a  stumbling-block;  but  mentioned  it 
casually  and  in  another  connection — not  to  find  fault 
with  me,  and  not  to  account  for  her  continuing  so 
long  in  unbelief.  Far  from  this.  She  was  one  of 
the  most  modest  of  women,  and  one  of  the  most 
affectionate  and  devoted  friends  I  ever  had.  Noth- 
ing, I  am  sure,  could  ever  have  tempted  her  to  find 
fault  with  me,  or  utter  a  syllable  with  any  intent 
to  censure  me  or  wound  my  feelings.  Before 
that  memorable  night  of  storms,  when  her  presence 
surprised  me,  she  had  been  for  months  an  anxious 
inquirer. 

It  was  a  most  painful  and  perplexing  thing  to  dis- 
charge my  pastoral  duty  to  this  woman.  I  could 
not  understand  her  state  of  mind.  She  vv^as  frank, 
she  concealed  nothing,  she  told  me  all  her  heart,  she 
was  desirous  of  being  interrogated.  She  was,  more- 
over,   an    intelligent,  well-educated    woman,    and 


THE     STORMY     NIGHT.  65 

trained  in  early  life  by  religious  parents.  But  I 
could  not  even  conjecture  what  kept  her  in  her  un- 
belief, since,  for  so  long  a  time,  she  had  known  the 
truth,  and  had  such  powerful  strivings  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  And  Avhat  then  could  I  say  to  her?  how 
could  I  hope  to  do  her  any  good  ?     . 

She  came  to  me  so  many  times,  and  I  had  so  many 
times  told  her  all  that  I  knew  about  the  way  of  sal- 
vation, and  so  many  times  presented  to  her  every 
motive  of  the  gospel,  and  invited  and  urged  her  to 
cast  herself  upon  Christ,  that  I  did  not  know  what 
more  to  say  or  do  ;  and  time  after  time  I  was  half 
sorry  to  see  her  come  into  my  house,  and  then 
ashamed  of  myself  because  my  heart  had  such  a 
feeling.  I  knew  not  what  to  do.  At  one  time  I 
was  on  the  point  of  telling  her  that  I  had  nothing 
more  to  sa}^  to  her,  and  she  need  not  come  to  me 
again.  But  I  could  not  do  it.  She  was  so  miserable, 
so  sincere,  so  determined,  docile,  and  confiding,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  me  to  cast  her  off.  I  afterwards 
rejoiced  that  I  had  not  done  it.  Her  husband  be- 
came pious,  her  sister,  and  others  of  her  friends,  all 
of  whom  began  to  seek  G  od  after  she  did ;  and  yet, 
there  she  stood,  the  same  unhappy,  unconverted 
sinner.  She  did  not  advance,  and  she  did  not  go  back. 
Time  after  time  I  assured  her  that  her  lingering  wa? 
unnecessary,  and  would  gain  her  nothing, — ^that  she 
had  but  to  trust  herself  to  the  arms  of  Christ  out- 


66  THE     STORMY     NIGHT. 

stretched  to  receive  her, — that  '  without  faith  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  please  God,'  or  gain  an  item 
of  profit  to  her  own  soul.  A  hundred  times  I  cau- 
tioned her  most  solemnly  against  putting  any  trust 
in  her  perseverance,  for  that  she  was  persevering  in 
the  wrong  course  while  in  her  unbelief,  and  the 
farther  she  went,  thg  worse  would  be  her  condition. 
Time  after  time,  the  Bible  in  my  hand,  and  she  in 
tears  before  me,  as  a  minister  of  God,  and  on  his 
authority,  I  offered  her  a  free  salvation,  and  de- 
manded her  heart's  faith,  and  instant  submission  to 
divine  authority  and  unbounded  love.  Her  mind, 
her  conscience,  her  heart,  I  besieged  with  all  the 
kindness  of  Christ.  I  explained  to  her  such  pas- 
sages of  the  Scriptures  as  'the  marriage  which  a 
certain  king  made  for  his  son,' — and  'the  j^rodigal,' 
who,  in  a  far  country,  '  began  to  be  in  want.'  All 
would  not  do. 

As  far  as  I  could  discover,  she  had  for  many 
weary  months  a  full  conviction  of  all  the  great  doc- 
trines of  the  Bible,  of  the  entire  depravity  of  her 
heart,  of  her  sin  and  danger  u.nder  the  law  as  a 
condemned  sinner,  of  the  impossibility  of  her  salva- 
tion but  by  Christ,  and  of  the  full  and  free  salvation 
offered  to  her  in  the  love  of  God,  on  the  ground  of 
the  great  atonement.  I  have  never  spent  half  as 
much  time  with  any  other  awakened  sinner,  or 
uttered  to  any  other  one  half  as  many  threatenings 


THE     STORMY     NIGHT.  67 

and  promises  of  God,  or  kneeled  with  any  other 
half  as  many  times  in  prayer.  But  so  far  as  I  know, 
she  never  received  any  benefit  from  it  all,  unless 
that  was  a  benefit  which  she  one  day  suggested  to 
me  long  afterwards,  when  she  said,  "  iiyou  had  been 
discouraged  with  me,  /  should  have  been  discour- 
aged,— and  should  have  given  up  trying  to  be  saved." 
She  persevered.  She  became  a  child  of  hope  and 
peace.  She  united  herself  with  the  people  of  God ; 
and  now,  after  more  than  tliirteen  years,  she  still 
lives  in  the  enjoyment  of  Cliristian  hope.  Neither 
she  nor  I, — ^}'ea,  nor  her  husband,  Avill  ever  forget 
that  stormy  night. 

Ministers  ought  never  to  despair  of  the  salvation 
of  any  sinner.  To  despair  of  any  one,  is  just  the 
way  to  make  him  dcsj)air  of  himself  Many  have 
been  ruined  in  this  waj-  probably.  We  ought  to 
expect  sinners  to  repent, — and  treat  them  accord- 
ingly. Who  shall  limit  the  Holy  One  of  Israel? 
It  took  me  long  to  learn  the  lesson,  but  I  have 
learnt  never  to  give  up  a  sinner.  We  must  urge  the 
duty  of  an  immediate  faith  and  repentance,  as  the 
Bible  does  so  continually  ;  but  we  should  be  careful 
to  enjoin  tliis  duty  in  such  a  manner^  that  if  it  is  not 
immediately  done^  the  individual  shall  not  be  led  or 
left  to  cease  seeking  God.  Many  a  sinner  turns 
back,  when  just  at  the  door  of  heaven. 


HOLD    01s     OR    LET    GO. 

Many  months  after  tlie  foregoing  sketcli  was  all 
written,  together  with,  the  reflections  I  have  made 
upon  it  as  they  are  j^rinted  above,  I  had  an  oppor- 
tunity for  conversation  with  my  persevering  friend, 
and  I  made  another  attempt  to  learn,  (as  I  had  some- 
times tried  to  learn  before,)  what  it  was  that  kept 
her  in  her  unbelief  for  so  long  a  time,  in  those  dark 
days  of  her  wearisome  perseverance. 

''You  have  asked  me  that,"  said  she,  "more  than 
once  before,  and  I  never  could  tell  you.  I  have 
often  thought  of  it,  but  it  alwaj^s  seemed  mysterious 
to  me.  I  believed  the  Spirit  had  led  me,  but  I  did 
not  know  how.  But  awhile  ago,  in  one  of 
my  backslidings,  I  thought  I  found  out  something 
about  it." 

"Well,  how  was  it?" 

"  I  was  in  a  cold  state,"  said  she ;  "I  had  lost  all 
the  little  light  I  ever  had.  I  knew  I  had  done 
wrong.  I  had  too  much  neglected  prayer,  my  heart 
had  become  worldly,  and  for  a  good  many  weeks  T 


THE     CHOICE.  69 

was  in  trouble  and  fear,  for  I  knew  I  had  wandered 
far  from  God.  Then  I  thought  I  felt  just  as  I  used 
to,  before  I  had  any  hope,  when  I  was  coming  to 
your  house  so  much.  And  then  I  tried  to  recollect 
what  I  did  to  come  to  the  light  at  that  time,  so  as  to 
do  the  same  thing  now.  But  I  couldn't  remember 
anything  about  it.  However,  while  I  was  trying, 
one  thing  came  to  my  mind  which  did  me  some 
good.  You  know  j^our  sermon  that  you  preached 
just  before  I  came  to  have  any  hope, — I  don't 
remember  the  text, — but  it  was  about  wandering 
sinners  lost  on  the  mountains." 

"  No,  indeed,  madam,  I  have  no  recollection 
of  it." 

"  Well,  I  can't  tell  you  what  it  Avas ;  I  can't 
**epeat  it ;  may  be  I  can  tell  enough  to  make  you 
remember.  I  know  you  represented  us  in  that  ser- 
mon as  lost  sinners,  lost  in  the  woods,  wandering 
over  mountain  after  mountain,  in  dark  and  danger- 
ous places  among  the  rocks  and  precipices,  not 
knowing  where  we  were  going.  It  grew  darker 
and  darker, — we  were  groping  along,  sometimes  on 
the  brink  of  a  dreadful  precipice,  and  didn't  know 
it.  Then  some  of  us  began  to  fall  down  the  steep 
mountains,  and  thought  we  should  be  dashed  to 
pieces.  (I  know  /  thought  so.)  But  we  caught  hold 
of  the  bushes  to  hold  ourselves  up  by  them  ; — some 
bushes  would  give  way,  and  then  we  would  catch 


70 


THE     CHOIC: 


otliers,  and  hold  on  till  they  gave  way,  broke,  or 
tore  up  by  the  roots,  and  then  we  would  catch 
others,  and  others. — Don't  you  remember  it,  sir  ?" 

"Partly.     But  go  on." 

"  Well,  you  said  our  friends  were  calling  to  us,  as 
we  hung  by  the  bushes  on  the  brink,  and  we  called 
to  one  another,  '  hold  on — hold  onJ  Then,  you  said 
this  cry,  ^hold  on — hold  on,^  might  be  a  very  natural 
one  for  anybody  to  make,  if  he  should  see  a  poor 
creature  hanging  over  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  cling- 
ing to  a  little  bush  with  all  his  might, — if  the  man 
didn't  see  anything  else.  But  you  said  there  was 
another  thing  to  be  seen,  which  these  '  hold  on'  people 
didn't  seem  to  know  anything  about.  You  said  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  was  down  at  the  bottom  of  the 
precipice,  lifting  up  both  hands  to  catch  us,  if  we 
would  consent  to  fall  into  his  arms,  and  was  crying 
out  to  us,  '  let  go — let  go — let  go^  Up  above,  all 
around  where  we  were,  you  said  they  were  crying 
out  ^hold  on — hold  on.''  Down  below,  you  said, 
Jesus  Christ  kept  crying  out,  '  let  go — ^!et  go ;'  and 
if  we  only  knew  who  he  was,  and  would  let  go  of 
the  bushes  of  sin  and  self-righteousness,  and  fall  into 
the  arms  of  Christ,  we  should  be  saved.  And  you 
said  we  had  better  stop  our  noise,  and  listen^  and 
hear  Ms  voice,  and  take  his  advice, — and  '  let  go.^  " 

"  Don't  you  recollect  that  sermon,  sir  ?" 

'*  Yes,  only  you  have  preached  it  better  than  I  did." 


THECHOICE.  Yl 

"  Well,  when  I  remembered  that  sermou  last 
spring,  in  my  dark,  back-slidden  state,  I  tried  to 
obey  it.  I  '  let  go'  of  everything ^  and  trusted  myself 
to  Christ ;  and  in  a  little  while,  my  heart  was  com- 
forted,— my  hope  came  back  again.  And  after- 
wards, when  I  was  wondering  at  it,  I  thought, 
perhaps  it  was  just  so  when  you  preached  that 
sermon  a  great  while  ago,  when  I  Avas  first  led  to 
have  a  hope  of  salvation.  But  I  never  thought  of 
it  before;  I  don't  know  how  I  found  peace  and 
hope  the  first  tim-e,  if  this  was  not  the  way.  I  sup- 
pose we  have  to  make  our  choice  whether  to  '  hold 
on'  to  something  which  can't  save  us,  or  'let  go,' 
and^^^?^  into  the  hands  of  the  LordP 

The  efforts  of  a  legal  spirit  are  directly  the  oppo- 
site of  an  evangelical  faith.  By  nature  every  sinner 
resorts  to  the  Law.  It  cannot  save  him.  He  must 
let  go  of  that,  and  fall  into  the  arms  of  Christ.  Faith 
saves,  and  Jesus  Christ  is  the  sole  object  of  faith. 


In  the  month  of  February,  18 — ,  I  called  at  the 
house  of  a  family,  which  I  had  several  times  visited 
before.  I  knew  them  aycII,  and  my  purpose  was  to 
make  anotlier  attempt  to  do  them  good.  They  were 
very  poor,  their  home  was  very  uncomfortable, 
their  apparel  dirty  and  ragged,  and  what  was  most 
mournful  of  all,  these  evils  were  manifestly  occa- 
sioned by  intemperance.  The  husband  and  father 
was  an  intemperate  man,  as  all  his  acquaintance 
knew,  and  as  anybody  would  know  by  the  sight  of 
him ;  and  the  wife  and  mother  was  an  intemperate 
woman,  as  I  was  frequently  told,  and  as  her  appear- 
ance but  too  plainly  indicated.  Such  they  had  been 
for  more  than  a  score  of  years.  They  had  several 
small  children,  who  were  miserably  clothed  and 
repulsively  dirty,  appearing  to  be  little  cared  for  by 
either  father  or  mother.  They  had  one  daughter, 
the  eldest  of  their  children,  a  very  worthy  girl,  of 
about  eighteen  years,  who  was  a  seamstress,  sup- 
porting herself  in  a  very  respectable  manner,  and 
moving  in  respectable  society.     But  she  seldom  or 


J 


THE     NEGLECTED     lilBLE.  73 

never  went  home.  She  had  left  her  parents  because 
she  could  not  live  with  them  any  longer.  She  once 
told  me,  that  she  could  not  endure  the  pain  of  seeing 
her  fiither,  and  especially  her  mother,  in  such  a  con- 
dition as  they  were ;  and  when  she  had  sometimes 
gone  home  to  see  them  after  she  left  them,  they  only 
complained  of  her,  and  reproached  her  for  her  pride, 
because  she  had  dressed  herself  in  a  decent  manner, 
and  because  she  would  not  consent  to  board  at  home 
any  longer.  Her  mother  had  once  requested  me  to 
induce  her  to  return  to  them ;  but  after  learning 
all  the  cii'cumstances,  and  hearing  the  daughter's 
touching  story  from  her  own  lips,  I  had  no  heart  to 
do  it, — I  could  not  attempt  it, — I  told  the  poor  girl, 
that  in  my  opinion  she  was  right  in  staying  away. 
She  could  do  them  no  good.  She  had  tried  it.  She 
was  only  reproached  if  she  called  upon  them.  The 
treatment  she  received  made  her  the  more  unhappy ; 
and  she  once  told  me  with  bitter  weeping,  that  if 
she  went  there  at  all,  she  ''  came  away  with  such  a 
feeling  of  shame,  that  it  made  her  wretched  for  a 
month."  It  was  a  very  delicate  thing  for  me,  and 
a  very  painful  one,  to  mention  the  subject  to  her  at 
all ;  but  I  trust  I  was  enabled  to  do  it  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  wound  her  feelings  but  httle,  and  to 
gain  her  respect  and  confidence  entirely.  She  cer- 
tainly gained  mine. 

On  the  morning  to  wliich  I  now  allude,  I  rapped 
4 


74  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

at  the  door,  and  tlie  old  woman  opened  it  and  looked 
at  me  witliout  uttering  a  word.  She  did  not  even 
respond  to  my  "good  morning;"  and  when  I  en- 
quired more  particularly  how  she  was,  in  as  kind 
and  respectful  a  manner  as  I  could,  she  scarcely 
made  any  reply  at  all.  She  did  not  ask  me  to  walk 
in ;  but  as  the  door  was  open,  and  she  did  not  for- 
bid me,  I  passed  into  the  house.  Thinking  that  she 
might  perhaps  be  a  little  disconcerted  by  my  coming 
at  a  time  inconvenient  for  her  to  see  me,  I  told  her  as 
I  went  into  the  house,  that  "I  would  not  hinder 
her  long,  I  had  called  for  only  a  minute,  to  see  how 
she  was." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  she,  with  a  low 
voice  and  a  very  sullen  look.  She  appeared  so 
different  from  what  I  had  ever  seen  her  before,  so 
downcast  and  sad,  that  I  thought  she  might  be  un- 
well, and  therefore  enquired  particularly  if  she  "  was 
sick." 

"  I  am  well,"  was  her  brief  and  solemn  reply,  ut- 
tered in  a  low  and  sepulchral  tone. 

In  order  to  make  her  feel  at  ease,  if  possible,  I  seat- 
ed myself  upon  a  chair.  It  was  covered  with  dust ; 
and  her  whole  room,  as  I  had  often  found  it  before, 
was  so  far  from  being  decentl}^  clean,  that  I  hesi- 
tated to  sit  down  in  it.  Everything  was  in  disorder. 
The  floor  had  not  been  swept  apparently  for  a  week, 
— ^the  ashes  were  scattered  over  the  hearth-stone, — 


THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE.  76 

the  scanty  furniture  was  most  of  it  broken,  and  re- 
sembling one  of  the  chairs,  which  had  but  three  legs, 
and  was  lying  on  its  back, — the  ceiling  was  festooned 
with  cobwebs,  that  had  caught  the  floating  dust,  and 
as  they  waved  to  and  fro  in  the  wind,  they  appeared 
like  a  mournful  token  of  the  wretchedness,  which 
seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  her  heart. 

I  made  several  attempts  to  lead  her  into  some 
conversation,  but  it  was  all  in  vain — she  spake  only 
in  muttered  monosyllables.  This  surprised  me.  I 
had  .nany  times  visited  her  before,  and  had  sup- 
posed that  my  attention  to  her,  my  familiarity  and 
kindness,  had  entirely  won  her  esteem  and  good- will. 
Indeed  I  had  supposed  myself  quite  a  favorite  with 
her.  Though  I  had  sometimes  reproved  her  very 
plainly,  I  had  always  done  it  afPectionately,  and  she 
had  always  treated  me  politely,  and  as  a  friend. 
But  now  all  was  changed.  She  was  cold  and  mute. 
She  appeared  very  much  as  if  she  was  angry,  and 
moved  about  the  room  adjusting  her  little  stock  of 
furniture,  as  if  she  was  too  sad  or  too  sullen  to  be 
conscious  of  my  presence.  She  scarcely  noticed  me 
at  all. 

Most  sincerely  I  pitied  her.  I  saw  she  appeared 
very  wretched.  I  thought  of  her  poverty,  of  her 
better  days,  of  her  youth,  of  her  cliildren,  of  her 
sins  and  her  soul.  She  was  of  a  respectable  family, 
and  had  received  a  respectable  education  in  her 


76  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

youth.  I  had  often  thought  in  my  previous  conver- 
sation with  her,  that  she  possessed  a  superior  mind. 
And  now,  to  behold  her  in  this  miserable  condition, 
and  no  prospect  before  her  of  any  relief,  a  disgrace 
to  herself,  to  her  children,  Y\rretched  and  heart- 
broken ;  was  too  touching  a  thing  to  allow  of  any 
other  feelings,  than  those  of  compassion  and  kind- 
ness. My  heart  bled  for  her.  I  could  not  have  ut- 
tered a  word  of  censure,  even  if  my  principles  would 
have  allowed  it.  I  resolved  to  soothe  and  console 
her  for  a  moment,  if  I  could,  before  I  left  her. 
Said  I : 

"  Mrs.  B ,  do  you  remember  what  I  was  speak- 
ing to  you  about,  when  I  was  here  week  before  last?" 

"  Jes,"  said  she,  with  a  low  and  sepulchral  voice. 

"  You  know  I  told  you  that  you  had  no  reason 
to  be  discouraged." 

"I  know  3^ou  did,"  said  she  mournfully. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  thought  you  a  woman  of  sup- 
erior sense,  and  capable  even  yet  of  doing  a  great 
deal  of  good  to  yourself  and  your  family." 

"  What  can  /do?"  said  she  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  told  you  when  you  asked  me 
that  question  the  other  day.  "With  God's  blessing, 
if  you  will  seek  it,  you  may  do  anything  you  wish — 
you  may  be  respected  and  happy  here,  and  be  saved 
in  the  world  to  come." 

I  paused,  but  she  made  no  reply.    Said  I : 


THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE.  77 

"  Have  yon  thought  of  what  I  told  you  then  F" 

She  gave  no  answer.     Said  I : 

"  Have  you  any  disposition  to  try  to  seek  God, 
and  aim  to  gain  everlasting  life  ?" 

Still  she  was  silent.  Kising  from  my  seat,  and 
stepping  towards  the  door,  I  said  to  her : 

*'I  am  aware  that  I  have  called  on  you  rather 
early  in  the  morning,  and  I  will  not  hinder  you  any 
longer  now.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  shall  be  glad 
to  call  on  3^ou  at  another  time." 

I  offered  her  my  hand  to  bid  her  good  bye,  but 
instead  of  taking  it,  she  placed  her  hand  against  the 
door  to  hinder  me  from  opening  it,  saying  in  a  firm 
and  solemn  tone,  '-^  DonUt  goP 

"I  will  stay  longer,"  said  I,  "if  you  wish  me  to 
do  so.     I  will  do  anything  in  my  power  for  you, 

Mrs.  B ,  most  willingly ;  but  I  suppose — "  (lifting 

my  hand  to  the  latch) — 

'■^  Boi-Ht  go,"  said  she,  placing  her  shoulder  firmly 
against  the  door,  to  keep  it  from  opening. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you?"  said  I. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Is  there  anything  you  wish  to  say  to  me,  Mrs. 

B ?     I  hope  you  will  speak  freely  to  me.     I 

assure  you  I  will  treat  you  with  all  kindness,  and  I 
think  you  know  me  well  enough  to  trust  me." 

Still  she  did  not  answer.  She  stood  like  a  statue 
of  stone,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  her  large 


78  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

frame  sligTitly  bending  forwards,  and  lier  counte- 
nance strongly  indicative  of  deep  tliought  and  mel- 
anclioly  emotions.  She  seemed  lost  in  lier  own 
contemplations.  I  considered  her  for  a  short  time 
in  silence.  She  moved  not — she  spake  not — she 
never  raised  her  eyes  npon  me — she  scarcely  breathed. 
I  knew  not  what  to  think  of  her.  She  appeared 
angry,  and  yet  it  was  not  anger.  Her  solemn  look, 
fixed  and  indescribable,  made  her  resemble  one 
wrought  up  to  an  iron  determination  for  some 
mighty  purpose.     Said  I : 

"Mrs.  B ,  yon  appear  to  feel  unhappy  this 

morning.  What  has  occurred  that  troubles  you? 
or  can  I  assist  you  in  any  way  ?" 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  but  remained  as  silent  as 
ever,  lost  in  thought,  or  in  some  Avilderness  of  emo- 
tions.  I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  her.  Evi- 
dently she  was  sober.  At  first  I  had  thought  she 
was  angxy,  but  her  voice  did  not  sound  like  it,  in 
the  few  syllables  which  she  had  uttered.  I  could 
not  leave  her,  for  she  stood  motionless  by  the  door, 
in  such  a  position  that  I  could  not  open  it  without 
swinging  it  against  her,  to  push  her  out  of  the  way. 
She  held  me  her  prisoner. 

I  knew  not  what  to  say ;  but  concluded  to  make 
another  attempt  to  find  what  was  occupying  her 
thoughts.     Said  I : 

"  Mrs.  B ,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what 


THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE.  '79 

makes  you  so  unhappy.  I  should  thhik  you  would 
tell  me  ;  I  have  always  been  a  friend  to  you,  and  I 
think  you  have  reason  to  confide  in  me." 

"  I  know  3'ou  have,"  said  she,  as  unmoved  and 
solemn  as  ever. 

"  Then  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  ?  what  troubles 
you?" 

"  I  am  a  great  si7iner  f  said  she,  slowly  and  with 
deep  solemnit}'. 

"  That  is  true,  and  a  much  greater  sinner  than 
you  think." 

"  I  am  such  a  sinner !"  said  she,  with  a  coun- 
tenance as  fixed  and  cold  as  marble. 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad  you  have  found  it  out ;  for  now 
you  will  see  the  necessity  of  fleeing  to  that  Saviour, 
of  whom  I  have  spoken  to  you  so  many  times,  as 
your  only  ground  of  hope." 

"I  am  undone  forever  T  said  she,  with  a  look  of 
cold,  fixed  despair. 

"  You  would  be,  if  there  was  no  mercy  in  God, 
and  no  Christ  Jesus  to  save.  But  God  is  able  and 
willing  to  save  all  sinners  who  repent  of  sin  and 
forsake  it,  and  put  all  tlieir  trust  in  Christ." 

"  I  have  sinned  a  great  w^hile !" 

''And  God  has  borne  Avith  you  a  great  while, 
simply  because  He  is  '  not  willing '  that  you  '  should 
perish,  but  come  to  repentance.'  Have  you  been 
praying  to  God  to  save  you  ?" 


80  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

"Yes,  I  prayed  a  long  time  last  night;  and  I 
have  been  praying  this  morning  till  you  came  in." 

"  What  did  you  pray  ^or  V 

"I  prayed  that  God  would  forgive  me." 

''  And  do  you  think  He  will  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not !     I  am  a  very  great  sinner." 

"  Jesus  Christ,  madam,  is  a  very  great  Saviour. 
He  will  save  all  that  come  to  Him  in  faith.  The 
greatness  of  your  sins  cannot  ruin  you,  if  you  will 
but  repent  of  them  and  forsake  them,  trusting  to 
the  great  Kedeemer  of  sinners  for  pardon,  through 
His  atoning  blood.  '  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ 
cleanseth  from  all  sin.'  " 

"  Will  God  have  mercy  upon  me  now^  after  all  I 
have  done  ?"  said  she,  (for  the  first  time  lifting  her 
eyes  upon  me,  with  a  beseeching  look.) 

"  Yes,  He  will ;  He  says  He  will.  '  Though  your 
sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow ; 
though  they  be  red  like  crimson,  they  shall  be  as 
wool.' " 

"  I  have  been  an  awful  sinner !  I  am  a  poor  crea- 
ture, unworthy  of  anything  but  God's  curse  !" 

"  True,  all  true,  madam ;  but  Christ  is  infinitely 
worthy,  has  borne  the  punishment  due  to  sinners, 
and  Is  willing  to  save  you." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so,"  said  she,  with  the 
same  fixed  and  despairing  look. 

"  You  may  think  so ;  God  thinks  so." 


THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE.  81 

"  There  is  no  mercy  for  me  any  longer  !" 
"  So  you  think,  but  God  thinks  dilBferently.  You 
and  He  do  not  think  ahke.  He  thinks  right,  and 
you  think  wrong.  You  must  fling  away  your  own 
thoughts  and  act  on  His.  And  that  is  what  He 
means  in  that  expression  in  Isaiah,  '  let  the  wicked 
forsake  his  way  and  the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts^ 
and  let  him  return  unto  the  Lord,  and  He  will  have 
mercy  upon  him,  and  to  our  God,  for  he  will  abun- 
dantly pardon.  For  my  thoughts  are  not  your 
thoughts,  neither  are  your  ways  my  ways,  saith  the 
Lord.'  Your  thoughts,  madam,  your  very  sincerest  and 
soberest  thoughts,  are  to  he  forsaken.  Your  thoughts 
are  wrong.  Fling  them  away,  and  use  God's  thoughts. 
His  thoughts  are  right.  You  think  differently  from 
Him,  and  therefore  your  thoughts  are  not  to  govern 
you.  'Let  the  unrighteous  forsake  his  thoughts.'  You 
think  wrong  about  God,  and  wrong  about  yourself, 
and  wrong  about  sin,  and  wrong  about  forgiveness. 
I  do  not  mean  that  you  think  yourself  a  gi^eater 
sinner  than  you  are,  for  you  have  not  yet  seen  the 
half  of  your  guilt  and  danger ;  but  you  think  wrong 
about  God's  readiness  to  forgive  you.  Remember 
that  He  says,  'Let  the  unrighteous  forsake  his 
thoughts.'  And  then,  a  little  after.  He  says  again, 
'  my  thoughts  are  not  your  thoughts,'  and  goes  on 
to  say,  '  for  as  the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth 
so  are  my  thoughts  higher  than  your  thoughts.' 

4* 


82  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

What  does  He  mean  b  j  all  tliis  ?  He  means  that  it 
does  not  belong  to  you  to  tell  what  God  will  do  or 
will  not  do.  If  you  undertake  to  tell,  you  will  be 
sure  to  tell  wrong,  because  you  think  wrong.  You 
must  let  Him  tell  what  He  will  do.  And  He  is  tell- 
ing in  that  very  passage  about  the  forgiveness 
which  you  say  you  cannot  think  there  is  for  you : 
'  Let  him  return  unto  the  Lord  and  He  will  have 
mercy  upon  him,'  But  the  sinner  does  not  think 
so ;  and  therefore  God  says  it  over  again,  as  if  He 
would  beat  it  into  the  poor  sinner's  heart,  '  let  him 
return  unto  our  God,  for  He  will  abundantly  par- 
don.' "  (She  shook  her  head  with  a  slow  despond- 
ing motion,  as  I  went  on.)  "  You  do  not  think  so, 
but  God  does.  He  telh  you  '  my  thoughts  are  not 
your  thoughts,  neither  are  your  ways  my  ways.' 
Your  thoughts  this  minute  are,  '  I  am  a  great  sinner.' 
God's  thoughts  are,  '  I  will  have  mercy  upon  her.' 
Your  thoughts  are,  '  I  have  sinned  too  long  to  be 
forgiven.'  God's  thoughts  are,  '  I  will  abundantly 
pardon  her.'  I  should  like  to  show  you  that  whole 
chapter.     I  want  to  read  it  to  you.     Have  you  got 

aBible,  Mrs.  B ?" 

Without  uttering  a  Avord,  she  slowly  moved  from 
the  door  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  placed  a 
chair  beneath  a  high  shelf,  that  was  made  of  a  single 
rough  board,  and  hung  up  on  rude  wooden  brackets, 
almost  up  to  the  wooden  ceiling  of  the  room.     She 


THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE.  83 

then  stepped  up  upon  the  chair,  and  reaching  her 
hand  upon  the  shelf,  felt  along  till  she  found  it,  and 
took  down  her  Bible.  She  stood  upon  the  chair, 
and  gazed  upon  it  as  she  held  it  in  her  hand,  witli 
a  fixed  look.  Then  she  slowly  stepped  down  from 
the  chair  holding  her  Bible  in  her  hand,  and  stopped 
and  gazed  upon  it,  motionless,  and  without  uttering 
a  word.  It  was  covered  all  over  with  dust,  soot 
and  cobwebs,  appearing  as  if  it  had  not  been  handled 
for  years.  I  thought  her  heart  smote  her,  as  she 
held  it  unopened  and  looked  down  upon  it.  I 
thought  I  could  "  see  the  iron  enter  into  her  soul." 
I  did  not  disturb  her.  I  was  willing  she  should 
meditate  and  remember.  There  she  stood,  motion- 
less as  a  stone,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her  Bible, 
and  I  did  not  think  it  was  best  for  me  to  say  any- 
thing to  her, — 'the  dusty,  cob  webbed  Bible  was 
speaking  !  The  tears  gushed  from  the  eyes,  and 
fell  in  quick  drops  upon  its  blackened  lid.  Slowly 
she  lifted  her  tattered  apron,  and  wiped  off  the  tears 
and  the  dust,  and  deliberately  turning  towards  me 
she  extended  to  me  the  book — "  there  is  my  Bible  !" 
said  she,  with  a  bitterness  of  accent  that  I  shall 
never  forget.  She  turned  from  me,  with  both  hands 
lifted  her  dusty,  ragged  apron  to  her  face,  and  wept 
aloud. 

I  could  not  but  weep  too.     It  was  a  scene  sur- 
passing, I  am  sure,  the  genius  of  any  painter. 


84  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

When  slie  liad  become  a  little  composed,  I  re- 
quested her  to  sit  down  by  me,  and  then  directing 
her  eye  to  the  expressions,  I  read  and  explained  to 
her  the  fifty -fifth  chapter  of  Isaiah. 

I  attempted  some  farther  conversation  with  her, 
but  she  did  not  seem  so  much  inclined  to  talk  as  to 
listen.  At  her  request  I  prayed  with  her ;  and  when 
I  was  about  to  leave  her,  I  enquired : 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  this  state  of  mind, 
Mrs.  B ,  feeling  that  you  are  such  a  sinner  ?" 

"  Since  last  night." 

"  What  led  you  to  feel  so  last  niglit  ?" 

"  It  was  a  little  book  that  I  read." 

"What  book  was  it?" 

"  Sixteen  short  Sermons." 

"  Whose  sermons  were  they  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  came  across  the  book  some- 
where about  the  house.  I  don't  know  where  it  came 
from." 

"  I  mean  who  wrote  the  Sermons  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Where  is  the  book  ?     I  should  like  to  see  it." 

"It  is  not  here.  I  lent  it  this  morning  to  Mrs. 
A "  (a  near  neighbor). 

"  Did  Mrs.  A want  to  read  it  herself  ?" 

"  Yes.  She  was  in  here,  and  would  make  me  tell 
her  what  was  the  matter  with  me ;  and  after  I  told 
her,  she  said  she  wanted  to  read  the  Sermons  too. 


THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE.  86 

So  I  lent  it  to  her,  a  little  wliile  before  you  came 
in." 

Taking  leave  of  Mrs.  B ,  I  went  immediately 

to  call  on  Mrs.  A .     I  found  her  in  tears.     She 

had  become  alarmed  about  her  condition,  as  a  sin- 
ner against  God.  She  frankly  expressed  to  me  her 
convictions  and  fears,  adding  with  great  emphasis, 
''what  shall  I  do?"  Of  course  I  conversed  with 
her  and  explained  the  way  of  salvation.  But  she 
said  nothing  about  the  book,  until,  as  I  was  about 
to  leave  her,  I  enquired  what  it  was  that  had  in- 
clined her  to  attend  to  her  salvation.     "  It  was  a 

little  book  that  Mrs.  B lent  me  this  morning," 

said  she ;  and  taking  it  from  under  her  Bible  that 
lay  on  the  table,  she  put  it  into  my  hand.  Then  I 
discovered  that  it  was  a  Tract,  bearing  the  title, 
"  Sixteen  short  Sermons,"  one  of  the  publications  of 
the  American  Tract  Society,  which  I  had  entirely 
forgotten  if  I  had  ever  read  it,  so  that  I  did  not  re- 
cognize it  by  the  title. 

After  this,  I  often  visited  Mrs.  B ,  and  had 

many  an  interesting  conversation  with  her.  In  one 
of  these  conversations,  she  referred  gently  and 
humbly  to  her  daughter,  and  not,  as  I  had  formerly 
heard  her,  with  manifest  anger  and  ill-will.  She 
said,  "I  should  like  to  see  her, — I  have  not  seen 
her  for  many  months ;  but,  I  suppose,  it  hurts  the 
poor  child's  feelings  to  come  home,  and  find  us — as 


86  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

we  have  been.  I  hope  we  shall  not  always  be  so." 
I  immediately  went  to  see  her  daughter  ;  and  alone, 
and  in  as  delicate  a  manner  as  I  could,  I  told  her  of 
her  mother's  altered  feelings,  and  suggested  the  pro- 
priety of  her  going  to  see  her.  She  wept  bitterly 
and  long.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  comfort  her 
at  all ;  and  before  I  left  her,  I  found  it  was  not  her 
mortification  and  shame  about  her  mother,  so  much 
as  her  anxiety  about  her  own  salvation,  which 
caused  her  distress.  She  had  already  heard  of  her 
mother's  seriousness,  and  that  was  one  of  the  causes 
of  her  own.  But  she  did  not  go  to  see  her  mother. 
I  pointed  her  to  Christ  as  well  as  I  could,  and 
left  her. 

A  few  days  after  this,  I  called  upon  the  daughter 
again.  I  went  to  tell  her  of  her  mother's  happy 
hope  in  Christ,  which  she  had  just  expressed  to  mo 
for  the  first  time  ;  and  to  my  no  small  joy  and  sur- 
prise, I  found  that  the  daughter  had  been  led  to  the 
same  sweet  hope  also.  "iVbt/;,"  said  she,  the  tears 
of  joy  coursing  down  her  youthful  and  beautiful 
'cheeks,  ^^now,  I  can  go  to  see  my  mother^ 

She  did  go.  She  opened  the  door,  and  found  the 
old  woman  alone.  ''My  mother,^^  said  she, — and 
she  could  say  no  more.  In  an  instant  they  were 
clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  both  bathed  in  tears 
of  unutterable  joy. 

That  humble  dwelling  soon  became  as  neat,  as 


THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE.  87 

grace  had  made  its  inmates  liappy.  The  daughter 
went  home.  She  aided  her  mother  in  all  her 
domestic  duties,  with  a  glad  and  grateful  heart. 
She  made  their  house  as  attractive  as  it  had  been 
repulsive.  She  made  clothes  for  the  youn'ger  chil- 
dren, and  having  assisted  her  mother  to  dress  them 
up  in  a  neat  and  respectable  manner,  the  old  woman 
attended  them  herself  to  the  Sabbath  school,  and 
requested  to  have  their  names  put  down,  "for," 
said  she,  "they  will  always  be  here  every  Sabbath, 
if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  teach  them  the  Bible." 

That  house  and  its  inmates  were  very  different  in 
June,  from  what  they  had  been  in  February.  Neat- 
ness and  peace  reigned,  where  there  had  been  filthi- 
ness,  and  clamor,  and  contention,  through  year  after 
year  of  misery.  The  whole  appearance  of  the  woman 
was  changed.  She  did  not  look  like  the  same  being. 
She  became  dignified,  lady -like,  intelligent,  easy  in 
her  manners,  and,  though  always  solemn,  she  was 
uniformly  contented  and  happy.  "  It  seems  to  me," 
said  she,  "  that  I  need  but  one  thing  more,  and  my 
cup  is  full:  if  my  husband  would  only  quit  his 
ways,  and  turn  to  God,  it  seems  to  me  we  should 
be  happy  enough."  But  he  never  did.  He  con- 
tinued his  intemperance.  I  exerted  all  my  skill  to 
persuade  him  to  forsake  his  ruinous  course ;  but  I 
met  him  thirteen  years  afterwards,  staggering  in 
the  street. 


88  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

Eight  montlis  after  the  time  when  I  found  this 
woman  so  suddenly  awakened  to  a  sense  of  her 
situation,  by  "a  httle  book  that  she  had  read,"  I 
baptized  both  her  and  her  daughter,  and  they  were 

received  into  the  church  the  same  day.    Mrs.  A , 

her  neighbor,  who  borrowed  the  book,  was  received 
and  baj)tized  at  the  same  time.  When  the  old 
woman  presented  herself  in  the  church  for  the 
reception  of  baptism,  her  old  neighbors  and  friends, 
who  had  been  acquainted  with  her  for  a  score  of 
years,  did  not  know  who  she  was, — her  appearance 
was  so  altered; — and  I  found  it  difficult  the  next 
day  to  make  them  believe  that  it  was  verily  their 
old  neighbor,  whom  they  had  pitied  and  despaired 
of  so  long. 

There  was  nothing  of  any  marked  peculiarity  in 
this  woman's  religious  experience,  unless  it  was  her 
deep  huinility ;  her  iron  determination  manifest  al- 
ways from  the  very  beginning  of  her  conviction ; 
and  after  her  conversion,  her  unbounded  gratitude  to 
God.  "  Who  could  have  thought,"  said  she,  "that 
God  would  have  mercy  upon  su.ch  a  creature  as  I  ?" 

That  "  little  book,"  the ''  Sixteen  Short  Sermons," 
lent  from  house  to  house  through  the  neighborhood, 
did  good  service  in  that  season  of  a  revival  of  reli- 
gion, which  I  have  always  supposed  originated  from 
its  influence,  more  than  from  any  other  one  thing. 
However  this  may  have  been  (and  I  believe  there 


THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE.  89 

is  a  great  deal  of  foolisli  error  abroad  among  tlic 
churches  in  attempting  to  account  for  revivals  of  re- 
ligion, and  trace  their  origin),  the  name  of  Mrs. 

B stands  recorded  in  my  private  book,  the  very 

first  name  in  the  list  of  the  hopeful  converts  to 
Christ  in  that  revival — a  list  containing  more  than 
Two  Hundred  and  Fifty  names. 

As  long  as  I  continued  to  be  her  Pastor,  Mrs. 

B always  appeared  to  me  to  be  a  humble  and 

happy  Christian.  There  was  uniformly  an  air  of 
deep  solemnity  about  her,  of  profound  humility,  and 
a  cast  of  mournfulness  too,  whenever  she  adverted 
to  her  past  life,  or  the  time  of  her  hopeful  conver- 
sion. The  remembrance  of  what  she  was,  seems  to 
have  thrown  a  sombre  shade  over  her  character. 
Twenty  years  have  passed  away,  and  she  still  lives, 
enjoying  the  Christian  confidence  and  affection  of 
her  church. 

I  have  sometimes  called  upon  her,  since  I  ceased 
to  be  her  Pastor,  and  removed  to  another  and  dis- 
tant place.  At  one  time  I  visited  her  after  an  inter- 
val of  thirteen  years.  •  I  did  not  expect  she  would 
know  me.  I  knocked  at  the  door — she  invited  me 
in — and  taking  a  seat  I  asked  some  business-hke 
questions  about  two  or  three  of  her  neighbors.  She 
responded  readily  to  my  questions,  but  kept  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  me,  with  a  kind  of  curious  and  doubt- 
ful inquisitiveness.     This  questioning  and  answer- 


90  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

ing  and  inspecting  continued  for  several  minutes, 
till  I  supposed  that  the  nature  of  my  questions  had 
thoroughly  concealed  my  identity.  Finally  I  asked 
her, — 

"  Have  you  got  a  Bible  ?" 

Adjusting  her  spectacles  to  her  ej^es  Avith  both  her 
hands,  she  replied, — 

"  Ain't  you  priest  Spencer  ?  Them  are  the  same 
eyes  that  used  to  look  right  through  me.  How  do 
you  do  ?     I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"I  am  no priestj^^  said  I. 

"  "Well,  we  used  to  call  ministers  so  when  I  was 
young.  It  is  just  like  you  to  come  and  see  me. 
But  I  didn't  expect  it." 

I  inquired  whether  she  still  kept  her  "  Sixteen 
Short  Sermons." 

"  O,  yes,"  said  she,  "  that  is  next  to  the  Bible.'' 

I  told  her  that  1  should  like  to  have  that  same 
book,  and  asked  if  she  would  be  willing  to  give 
it  to  me.     Said  she, — 

"  I  will  give  you  anything  else  I've  got ;  but  I 
should  be  unwilling  to  spare  that,  unless  I  could  get 
another  just  like  it.  I  read  it  over  every  little 
while." 

She  produced  the  same  old  tract,  which  I  had 
seen  in  her  house  more  than  seventeen  years  before. 
It  bore  the  marks  of  age,  and  of  much  service.  It 
had  become  almost  illegible  by  use,  and  time,  and 


THE     NEGLECTED     BTHLE.  91 

dust.  "  It  lias  been  all  around  tlic  neigliborliood," 
said  slie.  "  I  have  lent  it  to  a  great  many  folks ; 
and  sometimes  I  liave  liad  hard  work  to  hunt  it  up, 
and  get  it  back  home  again." 

I  gave  her  two  new  ones  of  the  same  sort,  and 
also  the  whole  bound  volume  which  contains  it ; 
and  after  carefully  examining  the  two,  leaf  by  leaf, 
*'  to  see  if  they  were  just  like  it,"  as  she  said,  she 
finally  consented  to  part  with  her  old,  time-worn, 
rusty  tract.  "  I  thought,"  said  she,  "  I  never  should 
part  with  that  book, — but  these  new  ones  are  better ; 
I  can  read  them  easier,  and  I  can  lend  them  to  more 
folks.  Some  people  will  read  these,  who  would  not 
read  one  so  dirty  and  old  as  that." 

I  felt  half  guilty  for  taking  her  old  companion, 
and  was  sorry  I  had  ever  asked  for  it.  As  I 
parted  with  her  and  came  away,  I  noticed  that  her 
eyes  kept  fixed  upon  the  "  Sixteen  Short  Sermons," 
that  I  held  in  my  hand.  I  hope  yet  to  be  permitted 
to  return  it  to  her. 

There  were  two  things  in  the  character  of  this 
■woman  worthy  of  very  special  notice, — her  deter- 
mination and  her  dependence.  So  firmly  was  she 
fixed  in  her  resolution  to  abandon  the  habit,  which 
had  so  long  been  her  sin,  and  the  cause  of  her 
misery,  that  after  her  first  seriousness  on  that  mem- 
orable night,  she  never  once  tasted  the  cup  of  her 


92  THE     NEGLECTED     BIBLE. 

sHame.  She  would  not  see  anybody  else  do  it, — she 
wonld  not  go  where  it  was, — she  would  cross  the 
street  to  avoid  passing  the  door  where  it  was  sold, 
- — she  would  not  even  looh  at  it.  And  so  entire 
was  her  dependence  on  God  to  keep  her  from  it, 
that  she  gave  the  memorable  description  of  her 
course, — "  drinh  anything  ?  no !  if  I  ever  tliink  of  it, 
I  immediately  go  to  prayer."  I  recommend  her 
example  to  every  reader  of  this  book : — "  drink 
anything  ?  no !  if  you  ever  iliinh  of  it,  immediately 
go  to  pra^^er." 


Ho  (E^cii|},e. 


Ijst  conversation  witli  a  yonng  man,  wlio  desired 
to  unite  v/itli  the  cliurcli,  lie  surprised  me  very  much 
by  a  reference  which  he  made  to  his  former  "  detes- 
tation of  rehgion,"  as  he  called  it,  and  by  mention- 
ing the  manner  in  which  he  was  first  led  to  any 
considerable  concern  in  reference  to  his  salvation.  I 
had  known  him  with  some  intimacy  for  several 
months,  had  frequently  conversed  with  him  as  a 
serious  inquirer,  and  afterwards  as  one  who  enter- 
tained a  hope  in  Christ.  But  he  had  never  before 
mentioned  to  me  so  definitely  the  means  of  his 
awakening,  and  his  previous  opposition  to  religion. 

He  belonged  to  a  pious  family;  his  parents  and  sev- 
eral of  his  brothers  were  members  of  the  church  ;  he 
was  a  moral  and  staid,  industrious,  intelligent  young 
man,  always  attending  church,  and  was  a  teacher  in 
the  Sabbath  school.  I  had  not  supposed  that  his  feel- 
ings of  opposition  to  rehgion  had  ever  assumed  the 
strong  character  which  he  described  to  me  now  ;  and 
I  had  never  known  the  means  of  their  alteration.  I 
happened  to  ask  him, — 


94  NO     ESCAPE. 

"  Mr.  H ,  what  Avas  it  that  first  called  your 

attention  definitely  to  religion,  when  you  began  to 
make  it  a  matter  of  your  personal  concern  ?" 

"  I  found  there  was  no  escape,  I  could  not  get 
away  from  it," 

"  What  do  you  mean,  when  you  say  '  there  was 
no  escape  ?' " 

"  Why  the  subject  met  me  everywhere.  Where- 
ever  I  went  there  was  something  to  make  me  think 
of  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  there  are  things  to  bring  it  to 
mind  all  around  us  and  always,  if  we  would  heed 
them.  God  has  filled  His  world  with  things  sug- 
gestive of  Hii^self." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  mean  that  at  all.  It 
is  true,  that  now  almost  everything  makes  me  think 
of  God  and  my  duty  ;  but  I  mean  things  that  were 
done  on  purpose  to  catch  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
I  was  pursued  everywhere.  There  was  no  getting 
away.  If  I  went  to  church  on  Sunday ;  you  never 
let  us  off  with  a  descriptive  or  literary  sermon,  like 
a  college  professor;  you  always  had  something  about 
faith,  or  repentance,  or  depravity,  or  the  duty  of 
sinners  to  fly  to  Christ.  If  I  went  to  my  store  on  a 
week  day,  thinking  I  should  escape  there^  because  I 
had  something  else  to  attend  to ;  my  partner  would 
have  something  to  say  to  me  about  religion,  or 
something  to  say  in  my  presence  which  I  knew  was 


NO    ESCAPE.  95 

meant /or  me.  If  I  met  you  in  the  street ;  yon  were 
sure  not  to  let  me  pass  without  bringing  up  that 
subject  in  some  way  or  other.  If  I  went  home  to 
dinner  or  tea ;  religion  would  be  talked  of  at  the 
table  If  I  was  spending  any  part  of  the  evening  in 
the  family  after  I  left  the  store ;  it  was  the  same  thing 
again  :  religion,  religion  would  come  up  ;  every  one 
had  something  to  say  which  made  me  think  of  re- 
ligion. If  I  went  off  to  bed,  (as  I  did  many  a  time 
to  get  out  of  the  hearing  of  it ;)  my  sister  had  put  a 
tract  upon  my  pillow.  I  could  not  bear  all  this.  I 
often  avoided  everybody  and  went  to  my  room, 
where  I  could  be  alone,  and  think  of  what  I  pleased; 
and  there  the  first  thing  to  meet  me  would  be  some 
religious  book,  which  my  mother  or  some  one  else 
had  put  in  the  place  most  likely  to  attract  my  atten- 
tion; and  perhaps  left  it  open  at  some  passage 
marked  on  purpose  for  me.  After  several  of  my 
young  associates  had  become  Christians,  and  began 
to  talk  about  religion ;  I  avoided  them  and  sought 
other  company,  and  pretty  soon  they  began  to  talk 
religion  too  !     I  was  provoked  at  it !" 

"  Did  these  people,  who  endeavored  to  influence 
you,  treat  you  rudely  or  impolitely  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !  That  was  the  worst  of  it.  I  hoped 
they  would.  If  they  had  been  meddlesome  and 
impudent,  I  should  have  had  something  to  find 
fault  with,  and  should  have  told  them  to  mind  their 


96  NOESCAPE. 

own  business,  and  keep  tlieiT  religion  to  themselves. 
I  slionld  have  said,  that  religion  makes  men  Tin- 
gentlemanly,  and  unfit  for  society, — and  so  should 
have  excused  myself.  But  there  vv^as  none  of  that. 
There  was  little  said  to  me.  All  that  was  done, 
was  only  calculated  to  make  me  think  for  myself, 
and  of  myself;  and  so  I  could  not  complain.  But  re- 
ligion came  up  before  mo  on  all  sides ;  whichever 
way  I  turned,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  it  was 
there.     1  cou.ld  not  escape  it." 

"Did  you  have  a  strong  desire  to  escape  it?" 
"Yes,  I  did.  I  turned  every  way.  I  avoided 
Christians.  One  Sunday,  I  stayed  away  from 
church ; — ^but  that  contrivance  worked  the  othef)-  way^ 
for  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  religion  all  the 
morning,  and  so  in  the  afternoon  I  went  to  church, 
to  see  if  I  couldn't  forget  it  there.  When  I  came 
home  I  went  into  an  unoccupied  room,  because 
they  began  to  talk  about  the  sermon  in  the  parlor ; 
and  the  first  thing  that  met  me  was  the  Bibh^ — ^laid 
open  at  the  second  chapter  of  Proverbs,  and  a 
pencil-mark  drawn  round  the  first  six  verses. 
"  This  is  some  of  mother's  work,"  said  I.  Finally, 
I  resolved  to  sell  out  my  store,  and  get  away  into 
some  place  where  I  should  not  be  tormented  about 
religion  any  longer.  I  began  to  make  arrangements 
for  selling  out." 

"  Well,  sir,  what  altered  your  mind  ?" 


NO     ESCAPE.  97 

"  Why,  just  us  I  was  in  tins  trouble  to  get  away 
from  religion,  resolving  not  to  live  any  longer  in 
sucli  a  place  as  this ;  I  began  to  think  what  I  Avas 
alter, — why  I  desired  to  get  away.  And  then  I 
soon  found  out  it  was  because  I  desired  to  get  away 
from  the  truth,  and  away  from  God.  That  alarmed 
me,  and  shamed  me.  I  thought,  then,  that  if  there 
was  no  escape  from  men  here,  there  could  be  no 
escape  from  God  anj^where.  And  though  it  cost 
my  pride  a  hard  struggle,  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
I  was  all  wrong,  and  I  would  attend  to  my  salva- 
tion. Then  I  began;  but  I  don't  think  I  ever 
should  have  begun,  if  I  had  not  been  hunted  in 
every  place  where  I  tried  to  escape." 

"  Did  you  have  any  more  temptation  to  neglect 
religion  after  that  ?" 

"No.  I  immediately  took  my  stand.  I  went 
among  the  inquirers  openly.  Then  I  was  disap- 
pointed to  find  how  little  I  cared  any  longer  for  the 
world,  for  what  people  would  say,  and  all  such 
things,  as  I  used  to  think  A\'ould  be  great  trials  to 
me.  And  I  believe  7iow^  there  is  very  much  gained 
by  getting  a  sinner  to  commit  himself  on  this  matter. 
Then  he  will  not  wish  to  get  off" 

"  What  way  do  you  think  is  most  likely  to  succeed 
for  inducing  any  one  '  to  commit  himself  to  attend 
to  his  religion  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  answer  that.  Any  way  is  good,  I 
5 


98  NO     ESCAPE. 

suppose,  which  will  lead  people  to  think.  Judging 
from  my  own  experience,  I  should  suppose  that  no 
irreligious  person  in  the  world  could  put  off  religion 
any  longer,  if  his  way  was  hedged  up  as  mine  was, 
so  that  he  could  not  avoid  thinking  of  the  subject." 

Such  was  a  part  of  my  conversation  with  him. 
He  united  with  the  church ;  and  I  have  some  reason 
to  suppose,  that  since  that  time  he  has  aimed  to 
"lead  people  to  think,"  in  such  a  manner  that  there 
could  be  "  no  escape." 

Thoughtlessness  is  the  common  origin  of  un- 
concern. We  do  a  far  better  office  for  men  when 
we  lead  them  to  think,  than  when  we  think  for  them. 
A  man's  own  thoughts  are  the  most  powerful  of  all 
preaching.  The  Holy  Spirit  operates  very  much  by 
leading  men  to  reflection — ^to  employ  their  own  mind. 
I  should  hesitate  to  interrupt  the  religious  reflections 
of  any  man  in  the  world,  by  the  most  important 
thing  I  could  say  to  him.  If  I  am  sure  he  will  think^ 
I  will  consent  to  be  still.  But  men  are  prone  to  be 
thoughtless,  and  we  must  speak  to  them  to  lead 
them  to  reflection. 

But  the  instance  of  this  young  man  contains,  as  I 
think,  a  most  important  lesson.  It  appears  to  show, 
that  Christian  people  may  easily  exercise  an  influence 
upon  the  minds  of  the  worldly ;  and  I  have  often 
thought  such  an  influence  is  the  very  thing  which 


I 


NO     ESCAPE.  99 

the  cliiircli  needs,  more  than  almost  anything  else. 
There  is  many  a  member  of  the  church  having  faith, 
having  benevolence,  and  sincerely  desirous  of  the 
conversion  of  sinners,  who  never  has  once  opened 
his  lips  to  commend  religion  to  the  careless,  and  has 
never  in  any  way  attempted  to  lead  them  to  serious 
reflection.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  this  is 
wrong.  Surely  it  cannot  be  right  for  tlie  people  of 
God  to  wrap  their  talent  in  a  napkin  and  hide  it  in 
the  earth !  In  some  mode,  almost  every  Christian  in 
the  midst  of  us  is  able  to  influence  the  thoughts  of 
the  careless  every  day.  By  conversation,  by  time- 
ly remarks,  by  books,  by  Tracts,  and  by  a  thousand 
nameless  methods,  they  have  opportunity  to  impress 
religious  truth  upon  indifferent  minds.  There  is  too 
much  neglect  of  this.  The  irreligious  often  notice 
this  neglect ;  and  whenever  they  notice  it,  they  are 
very  apt  to  have  a  diminished  esteem  for  religious 
people,  if  not  for  religion  itself.  A  minister  cannot 
go  everywhere  and  speak  to  every  body  in  the  com- 
munity, but  private  Christians  can.  Such  Christians 
are  meeting  the  ungodly  daily,  they  know  them,  they 
associate  with  them,  work  with  them,  trade  with 
them,  and  it  would  be  easy  for  them  to  awaken 
many  a  sinner,  whom  a  minister  cannot  reach. 
Such  exertion  is  owq  great  want  oi  \he  church.  There 
are  few  irreligious  persons  in  the  midst  of  us  who 
are  compelled  to  say,  "  there  is  no  escape.' 


Clje  §'iXU  of  CoiiDxoioiu 

In  a  very  remote  and  rural  part  of  my  parisli, 
several  miles  from  my  own  residence,  and  by  the 
side  of  an  unfrequented  road ;  there  lived  a  married 
woman,  whose  state  of  mind  on  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion interested  me  much,  the  first  time  I  visited 
her.  I  thought  I  discovered  in  her  a  sort  of  readi- 
ness to  obey  the  Grospel,  if  I  may  use  such  an  ex- 
pression. She  was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  full  of 
vivacity,  enthusiasm  and  kindness,  simple,  beauti- 
ful, graceful;  and  when  she  became  ammated  in 
conversation,  her  clear  blue  eye  beamed  with  intelli- 
gence and  sweetness  of  disiDOsition,  which  flung  an 
indescribable  charm  around  all  that  she  uttered. 
She  and  her  husband  had  been  religiously  educated. 
She  was  a  woman  of  refined  manners,  and  to  me 
she  appeared  the  more  interesting,  because  she  evi- 
dently never  suspected  herself  of  any  refinement  at 
all.  Her  politeness,  which  I  have  seldom  seen 
equalled,  was  not  the  politeness  of  the  schools,  but 
of  nature  :  not  the  polish  of  art,  but  the  prompting 
of  simplicity  and  an  affectionate  disposition.     In  all 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  101 

things  she  appeared  unaffected,  natural,  simple.  She 
was  willing  to  appear  just  what  she  was,  and  there- 
fore always  appeared  to  advantage.  Her  manners 
would  have  gi^aced  the  most  refined  society.  She 
made  no  pretensions  under  the  promptings  of  pride 
or  vanity,  uttered  no  apologies  for  her  appearance, 
and  felt  no  bashfulness  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger. 
Too  far  removed  from  any  school  to  be  able  to  send 
her  children,  she  taught  them  herself ;  and  her  three 
little  boys,  for  intelligence,  kindness  and  propriety 
of  manners,  might  have  served  for  models  to  almost 
any  other  in  the  parish.  I  found  the  little  things  a 
short  distance  from  the  house,  plucking  the  wild 
flowers  in  the  woods,  to  entwine  in  their  mother's 
hair,  which  they  claimed  the  privilege  to  adorn  in 
that  manner,  and  which  might  be  seen  thus  adorned, 
according  to  their  taste,  almost  any  day,  from  the 
early  spring-time  till  the  frost  had  nipped  the  last 
blossom  of  the  year.  Eight  summers  had  not  passed 
over  the  head  of  the  eldest.  They  were  the  children 
of  nature — simple,  fearless,  artless.  The  frank,  gen- 
tle and  affectionate  demeanor  of  these  little  crea- 
tures, especially  towards  one  another,  gave  me,  as 
I  thought,  some  insight  into  the  character  of  their 
mother.  I  judged  of  her  by  her  little  pupils,  and 
afterwards  found  that  I  judged  justly.  I  took  them 
as  bright  miniatures  of  herself  And  I  did  not  think 
the  less  of  her^  when  I  perceived  the  evident  pleasure 


102  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION. 

and  exultation  (if  I  may  not  say  pride\  wliicli  slie 
had  in  tliem. 

I  visited  her  as  her  minister.  I  was  a  stranger  to 
her.  She  was  evidently  glad  to  see  me  at  her  house, 
and  the  more  so  as  she  had  not  expected  it.  After 
making  some  inquiries  about  her  husband  and  her 
children,  I  inquired  of  her, — 

"  Are  you  and  your  husband  members  of  the 
church  ?" 

"  ISTo  sir,"  said  she  with  a  downcast  look. 

"  Neither  of  you  ?" 

"Nosh." 

"  And  why  not  ?  Are  you  still  living  without 
religion  ?" 

"  I  suppose  we  are.  I  have  wished  a  great  many 
times  that  I  was  fit  to  be  a  communicant." 

"  And  why  are  you  not  fit  ?" 

"Because  I  have  no  saving  faith.  I  could  not  go 
to  the  Lord's  table  without  faith." 

"No,  but  you  ought  to  go  with  faith.  Jesus 
Christ  is  offered  to  you  in  the  Gospel,  to  be  your 
Saviour.  Your  duty  is  to  believe  in  Him.  And 
are  you  still,  at  your  time  of  life,  an  unbeliever  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  said  she,  with  a  pensive  look. 

"  And  are  you  going  to  continue  so  ?" 

After  a  long  pause,  during  which  her  thoughts 
seemed  very  busy,  she  replied,  with  an  accent  of 
sadness, — 


I 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  1 03 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  cannot  tell." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  continue  so  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  not  satisfied  with  myself.  I  think 
about  rehgion  very  often,  but — " 

"  And  do  yo\i  pray  about  it  very  often  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  not  very  often,  since  I  was  a  child." 

"  Have  you  praj^ed  to-daj^?" 

''No,  sir." 

"  Did  you  pray  last  Sabbath?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  read  my  Bible.  I  sometimes  pray, 
but  my  prayers  are  not  answered." 

"  What  do  you  pray /or  .^" 

"  I  have  prayed  for  forgiveness  and  the  Holy 
Spirit ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain  to  me." 

"  And  so  you  ceased  to  pray." 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  thougiit  I  could  do  nothing  without 
the  Holy  Spirit." 

"But,  my  dear  madam,  it  was  the  Holy  Spirit 
that  led  you  to  prayer.  God  was  calling  to  you  at 
those  times  when  3'ou  wxre  constrained  to  pray." 

"  I  have  never  thought  so,  sir." 

"  Then  He  has  been  more  kind  towards  you  than 
you  have  thought." 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  Christian." 

"  You  may  be  one,  if  you  will ;  but  not  without 
earnest  prayer.  Will  you  seriously  attend  to  your 
salvation,  beginning  now  ?    With  the  Bible  to  guide 


104  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION. 

jou,  and  tlie  Holy  Spirit  to  pray  for,  will  you  at  once 
begin  to  seek  tlie  Lord  ?" 

A  long  pause  followed  this  question.  She  seemed 
to  be  lost  in  thought,  and  I  did  not  choose  to  disturb 
her  thoughts.  She  appeared  downcast ;  but  after  a 
little  while,  I  thought  I  perceived  a  sort  of  obstinacy 
manifest  in  her  countenance,  and  fearing  that  she 
was  about  to  utter  some  objection,  I  suddenly  rose 
to  take  my  leave. 

"  What!"  said  she,  "are  you  going?" 

"  I  must  go,  madam." 

"Shall  I  ever  see  you  again?"  said  she,  beseech- 
ingly. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me  again  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  c?o,"  said  she,  emphatically. 

"  Then  I  will  come  to  see  you  as  soon  as  I  can. 
But  before  I  come,  I  hope  you  will  have  made  up 
your  mind  fully,  and  w^ill  have  turned  to  Christ." 

A  month  afterwards  I  called  upon  her.  She 
appeared  much  as  before.  At  times  she  had  prayed, 
but  not  dail3^  I  talked  to  her  plainly  and  affec- 
tionately, prayed  with  her  and  left  her. 

I  had  now  little  hope  of  doing  her  any  good. 
However,  about  three  months  afterwards,  being  in 
that  neighborhood,  I  called  upon  her.  I  could  find 
little  alteration  in  her  feelings  or  habits,  except  that 
she  seemed  to  have  a  more  tender  spirit,  and  was 
more  accustomed  to  prayer.     But  nothing  I  could 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  105 

say  appeared  to  make  miicli  impression  upon  her. 
She  assented  to  all  the  truths  of  rehgion.  She  had 
known  them  from  her  childhood,  when  her  religious 
parents  taught  her.  A  pensiveness  and  solemnity 
hung  around  her ;  but  she  had  no  deep  anxiety.  In 
various  ways  I  strove  to  affect  her ;  but  it  was  all  in 
vain,  till  I  appealed  to  her  conscience  and  sensi- 
bilities as  a  mother.     I  said  to  her, — • 

"  You  have  three  precious  children  intrusted  to 
you,  and  your  example  will  have  great  influence  over 
them.  They  will  be  very  much  what  you  make 
them.  If  you  are  irreligious,  they  will  be  very  likely 
to  remain  so  too.  If  they  see  you  living  a  life  of 
faith  and  prayer,  the  example  will  not  be  lost  upon 
them.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  teach  them  religion. 
But  how  can  you  teach  them  what  you  do  not  know 
yourself  ?  Allow  me  to  say, — and  I  am  glad  I  can  say 
it, — I  have  been  delighted  to  notice  your  conduct  to- 
wards your  children.  In  my  opinion,  few  mothers 
do  so  well.  I  think  you  are  training  them  wisely  in 
all  things  hut  one.  May  I  say  it  to  you,  I  know  of 
no  children  of  their  age  who  please  me  so  much. 
In  their  excellence  I  see  your  own ;  and  this  com- 
pels me  to  respect  and  love  you  the  more,  and  be 
the  more  anxious  that  you  should  train  them  for 
heaven.  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  are  an  irreligiovs 
mother  .^" 

She  burst  into  tears ;  and  rising  suddenly  from 
5* 


106  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION. 

her  seat,  turned  her  face  towards  the  window  and 
wept  convulsively.  I  left  her  without  uttering  a 
word. 

It  was  more  than  six  months  before  I  could  see  her 
again.  As  I  called  upon  her  after  this  long  interval, 
she  told  me  that  she  had  tried  to  repent  and  flee  to 
Christ,  had  prayed  daily,  but  her  heart  remained 
the  same,  and  she  was  amazed  at  her  stupidity.  "  I 
am  insensible  as  a  stone^^^  said  she.  "  It  seems  to  me 
I  feel  nothing.  I  wish  to  love  God,  and  be  a  Chris- 
tian ;  but  I  am  fully  convinced  that  I  have  no 
power  at  all  over  my  hard  heart.  And  yet  I  have 
some  faint  hope,  that  God  will  have  mercy  upon 
me,  after  all  my  stubbornness  and  stupidity,  and  will 
yet  grant  me  the  Holy  Spirit.  Is  it  wrong  for  me 
to  have  such  a  hope  ?" 

"Not  at  all,  ni}^  dear  Madam.  I  am  glad  you 
have  that  hope.  Hold  on  upon  it.  Only  let  all 
your  hope  be  in  God  through  Jesus  Christ.  Let  no- 
thing discourage  you  for  an  instant,  while  you  attempt 
to  obey  the  G-ospel.  I  believe  God  has  good  things 
in  store  for  you.  You  may  say,  'will  he  plead 
against  me  with  his  great  power  ?  no,  he  will  put 
strength  in  me.'  " 

"  Oh  that  I  knew  where  to  find  Him,"  said  she. 

"He  is  on  His  throne  of  grace,"  said  I.  '  Then 
shall  ye  go  and  pray  unto  me,  and  ye  shall  seek  me, 
and  ye  shall  find  me,  when  ye  shall  search  for  me 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  lOV 

witli  your  whole  heart,  and  I  will  be  found  of  you, 
saith  the  Lord.' " 

"  I  c?o  seek,  sir ;  but  why  does  not  God  give  me 
the  Holy  Spirit?" 

"He  does  give  it.  Madam.  He  calls  you.  He 
strives  with  you.  He  shows  you  your  sin,  your 
stupidity,  your  strange  heart." 

"  But,  sir,  do  you  think  the  Holy  Spirit  is  sent  to 
one  alone  ?  and  when  there  is  no  revival  ?" 

"  Strange  question  for  you  to  ask  !  Yes^  my  dear 
friend,  most  unquestionably.  Is  the  offer  made  only 
to  a  multitude  ?  Is  it  not  made  to  every  one  that 
asks  Hun  ?" 

''  I  know  it  is.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would 
be  too  much  to  expect  God  would  regard  me  alone^ 
when  there  are  no  others  inclined  to  turn  unto  Him." 

"  Then  your  unbelieving  heart  does  an  injustice 
to  His  kindness.  He  is  a  thousand  fold  better  than 
you  think  Him.  He  '  waits  to  be  gTacious  unto 
you.'  He  '  calls  and  you  refuse.'  Because  you  do 
not  know  of  others  disposed  to  seek  God,  you  have 
little  courage  to  seek  Him,  though  you  know  that 
His  promises  are  made,  and  invitations  given  to  each 
individual  sinner  like  yourself:  to  you^  as  much  as 
if  you  were  the  only  sinner  in  the  universe." 

"  But,  if  others  were  attending  to  religion,  if  my 
husband  and  neighbors  were,  I  should  have  more 
expectation  of  succeeding." 


108  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION. 

*'  Madam,  I  am  not  sure  of  that.  I  will  not  too 
mncli  blame  you  for  thinking  so  ;  but  see  here  ;  you 
do  not  know  how  many  others  feel  just  as  you  do,  and 
wait  for  you  just  as  you  wait  for  them.  You  men- 
tioned your  husband.  I  am  going  to  see  him ;  and 
I  have  not  an  item  of  doubt,  but  before  I  have  left 
him  he  will  confess  to  me  that  he  is  waiting  for 

2/016." 

"  Why,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  she  with 
surprise. 

"  I  suppose  not.  But  it  is  time  for  you  to  think 
of  it.  You  and  he  are  waiting  for  one  another. 
"Which  shall  begin  first  ?  I  would  not  afflict  you,  or 
say  an  unkind  word  to  3^ou  ;  I  have  not  a  feeling  in 
my  heart  that  would  allow  me  to  do  it ;  but  I  tell 
you  seriously,  you  are  a  hindrance  to  your  husband. 
He  may  be  a  hindrance  to  you.  I  suppose  he  is. 
But  you  are  a  hindrance  to  him." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  be  a  hindrance  to  him." 

"  But  you  are,  and  you  will  continue  to  be,  more 
or  less,  as  long  as  he  thinks  you  to  be  an  unconverted 
sinner,  living  in  your  indifference  and  stupidity." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do.  First  give  your  own 
self  to  the  Lord.  Did  you  ever  talk  v/ith  your  hus- 
band on  the  subject  of  religion?" 

"  Oh  yes,  a  great  many  times." 

"  Have  you  lately  ^  and  have  you  told  him  how 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  109 

you  feel  about  your  own  heart,  your  sin  and  your 
salvation  ?" 

"Oh,  no  sir,  I  have  not  said  any  thing  to  him  about 
iliaC 

"  So  I  supposed.  And  now  I  will  tell  you  what 
to  do.  When  he  comes  in,  and  you  and  he  are 
alone  together,  just  tell  him  plainly  and  affectionate- 
ly, how  you  feel,  what  you  have  done,  and  what 
you  intend  to  do.  Open  your  whole  heart  to  him. 
When  he  hears  you  talking  so,  he  at  least  will  know 
of  one  sinner  who  intends  to  seek  the  Lord.  And 
thus,  vou  will  hinder  him  no  longer." 

This  was  quite  an  unexpected  turn  of  thought  to 
her.  She  sat  in  silence  for  a  little  time,  as  if  medi- 
tating the  matter,  and  then  inquired, — 

"  Did  you  say  you  would  see  my  husband  to-day  V 

"  Yes.  And  he  will  tell  me  you  are  a  hindrance 
to  him,  just  as  you  say  he  is  a  hindrance  to  you." 

"  But,  sir,  I  did  not  say  exactly  tliatP 

"  True,  madam,  you  did  not.  I  have  expressed 
the  idea  a  little  more  plainly  than  you  did,  and 
much  less  politely.  You  said  it  in  your  kind  way, 
and  I  in  my  coarse  one.  I  have  not  essentially 
altered  it.  You  did  mention  what  an  encouragement 
it  would  be  to  you,  if  your  husband  were  attending 
to  his  salvation.  He  feels  precisely  so  about  his 
wife,  in  my  opinion.  And  what  I  want  of  you  both 
is,  that  you  should  encourage  and  aid  one  another." 


110  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad,  if  lie  was  truly  a  Chris- 
tian." 

^'He  would  be  very  glad,  if  you  were  truly  a 
Christian.  But  will  you  do  what  I  have  just  told 
you  ?    "Will  you  tell  him  your  feelings  ?" 

After  a  short  pause,  Avith  her  ej'es  fixed  on  the 
ground,  and  a  look  of  ineffable  solemnity  and  ten- 
derness, she  replied  emphatically, — 

"  Yes^  my  dear  pastor,  /  wilir 

"  Good-bye,"  said  I,  and  reaching  her  my  hand, 
instantly  left   her. 

I  soon  found  her  husband  in  the  field,  at  work 
among  his  corn ;  and  shaping  the  conversation  ac- 
cording to  my  previous  intent,  it  was  not  long  before 
he  said  to  me, — 

"  Well,  if  my  v/ife  thinks  it  is  time  for  her  to 
attend  to  religiou,  I  shall  certainly  think  it  is 
time  for  me^  Avhen  my  poor  health  reminds  me  so 
often  of  my  end." 

"  I  have  been  talking  with  her,  and  I  assure  you 
that,  in  my  opinion,  she  would  certainly  be  quite 
ready,  were  it  not  for  one  thing." 

"What  is  that?"  said  he,  with  surprise  and 
concern. 

"  That  one  thing  is  yourself  It  is  j^ou  who  are 
a  hindrance  to  her.  You  do  not  follow  Christ,  and 
she  has  not  the  encouragement  of  your  example." 

"  That  need  not  stand  in  li&r  wav." 


i 


I 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  Ill 

*'  But  it  does  stand  in  lier  way.  Slie  follows  your 
example.  She  naturally  looks  to  you  as  a  guide, 
and  lier  affectionate  disposition  catclies  your  feel- 
ings. As  long  as  you  remain  an  irreligious  man, 
your  influence  tends  to  make  her  remain  an  irre- 
ligious woman.  You  may  be  assured  of  this.  You 
yourself  just  told  me,  that  if  she  thought  it  was  time 
for  her  to  give  her  heart  to  religion,  you  should 
certainly  think  it  was  time  for  you ;  and  is  it  not 
natural  that  she  should  think  so  too  ?  You  are  the 
husband.  She  looks  to  you  as  a  guide.  She  looks 
to  you  more  than  you  look  to  her.  She  feels  your 
influence  more  than  you  feel  her's.  Thus  you  are 
a  hindrance  to  her,  when  you  ought  to  be  a  help." 
"  She  never  said  anything  to  me  about  it." 
"  And  did  jovl  ever  say  anything  to  her  about  it?" 
"No,  nothing  in  particular.  But  I  have  been 
thinking  about  religion  a  good  deal,  as  I  told  you 
when  you  came  here  in  the  winter ;  and  I  do  not 
feel  contented.  I  am  not  prepared  to  die,  and  the 
thoughts  of  it  mp.ke  my  mind  gloomy." 

"  You  may  have  such  thoughts  as  to  make  your 
mind  glad.  The  gospel  is  '  good  tidings  of  great 
joy,'  and  '  for  all  people,' — for  you.  And  when  you 
go  home,  I  want  you  to  talk  with  your  wife  on  this 
subject,  as  you  know  you  ought  to  do  ;  and  tell  her 
what  you  think.  Will  you  do  so  ?" 
"  I  will  think  about  it." 


112  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION. 

"But  will  jovido  it?" 

"  I  can't  say,  I  can't  say." 

"  Well,  aim  to  do  your  duty  in  tlie  fear  of  God ; 
aim  to  lead  your  wife  and  children  to  tlie  kingdom 
of  heaven."     I  left  liim. 

This  man  was  of  a  very  sedate  and  cautious  dis- 
position. He  was  amiable,  but  he  was  firm.  He 
was  no  creature  of  impulses.  His  wife  had  more 
vivacit}^,  more  sprightliness,  more  ardor,  while  she 
was  by  no  means  deficient  in  decision  of  character. 
I  hoped  that  the  vivacity  of  the  one  would  stimulate 
the  slowness  of  the  other,  and  that  the  thinking 
habits  of  the  man  would  steady  and  temper  the 
ardor  of  the  more  impulsive  woman. 

Without  much  hope  of  being  able  to  influence 
them  at  all,  I  called  upon  them  again  the  next  week 
— sooner  probably  than  I  should  have  done,  but  for  a 
sort  of  curious  desire  to  know  the  result  of  their 
next  meeting  after  I  left  them.  The  wife  met  me 
at  the  door  with  evident  gladness.  "  I  am  very 
happy  to  see  you,"  said  she,  "  I  have  something  to 
tell  you.  My  husband  is  serious,  and  I  do  hope  he 
will  become  a  Christian." 

"And  I  suppose  he  hopes  you  will  become  a 
Christian." 

"  I  wish  I  was  one,  but  I  am  as  stupid  as  ever. 
My  husband  is  much  more  like  a  Christian  than  I 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  113 

"  Then  liis  seriousness  has  not  done  you  the  good 
you  expected  from  it." 

"  No,  and  I  am  astonished  at  myself.  But  I  must 
tell  3'ou.  After  you  went  away  last  week  I  did  not 
know  what  to  do,  I  felt  very  strange  about  speaking 
to  him  as  I  promised  you  I  would.  I  did  not  know 
how  to  hegin.  I  thought  of  it  a  long  time.  At  last 
I  came  to  the  conclusion  to  begin  as  soon  as  he  came 
in,  and  tell  it  all  over,  just  as  it  was.  So  wlien  I 
heard  him  coming  through  the  gate,  I  went  out  and 
met  him  there  under  the  tree.  Says  I, '  Mr.  Spencer 
has  been  here  talking  with  me,  and  I  want  to  tell 
you,  my  dear  Luther,  how  I  feel.'  He  stopped  and 
looked  at  me  without  saying  a  word,  and  I  told  him 
all  about  myself,  since  the  time  when  I  was  a  little 
child.  He  hstened  to  it  all,  looking  at  me  and  then 
on  the  ground  ;  and  when  I  had  got  done,  I  asked 
him  if  he  did  not  think  we  ought  to  live  differently. 
I  was  so  delighted  when  he  answered  right  off,  '  Yes, 
I  do.'  I  could  hardly  keep  from  weeping  for  joy, 
it  was  so  different  from  what  I  expected.  I  said, 
*  My  dear  Luther,  let  us  not  neglect  salvation  any 
longer.'  Says,  he,  '  I  don't  mean  to ;  I  am  deter- 
mined to  do  all  I  can  to  lay  up  treasures  in  heaven.' 
After  dinner  we  had  a  long  talk.  Almost  the  whole 
afternoon  he  sat  here  reading  the  Bible,  and  talking 
with  me.  Sometimes  he  did  not  say  a  word  for  a 
long  time,  but  would  read  and  then  stop  and  think. 


114  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION, 

As  soon  as  he  went  out,  I  went  alone  and  prayed, 
and  then  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  glad  to 
think  I  miglit  pray.  In  the  evening  he  sat  here 
with  me  and  the  children,  \vithout  saying  much,  only 
he  asked  me  some  questions  about  the  Atonement 
and  the  Holy  Spirit  and  faith  in  Christ.  And  when 
it  was  time  for  the  children  to  go  to  bed,  I  whispered 
to  him,  'shall  we  not  have  family  prayer?'  He 
got  right  up,  without  saying  a  word,  took  down  the 
Bible,  told  the  boys  to  wait  a  little  while,  and  then 
turned  to  the  third  chapter  of  John,  and  read  it 
loud.  Then  we  all  kneeled  down  and  he  made  a 
prayer.  Such  a  prayer  !  I  could  not  help  weeping. 
After  we  rose  from  our  knees,  and  were  sitting  in 
silence  a  little  while,  our  second  boy  went  to  him 
and  put  his  little  arms  around  his  neck.  '  Father,' 
says  he,  '  I  wish  jovl  avouM  pray  so  every  night.' 
He  looked  very  serious ;  and  when  the  boy  waited 
for  an  answer,  looking  right  in  his  face,  he  told  him, 
*  I  am  going  to  do  it  evcrj^  night  and  every  morn- 
ing too.'  Since  that  time  I  have  been  more  happy 
than  I  ever  was  before.  I  know  I  am  not  a  Chris- 
tian^ but  I  hope  God  will  have  mercy  U23on  us,  and 
lead  us  to  Christ." 

Such  was  her  simple  story  ;  and  she  told  it  in  a 
manner  that  would  have  affected  any  heart.  Her 
Little  boys  clustered  around  her,  wept  at  seeing  her 
weep,  and  I  should  have  despised  myself,  if  I  could 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  115 

have  avoided  weeping  with  them.  ITer  husband 
soon  came  in  from  the  field,  and  after  some  httle 
conversation,  I  prayed  with  them,  and  left  them. 

Months  passed  away  before  I  saw  them  again. 
They  then  appeared  much  alike.  Tlicy  liad  no 
hope,  but  they  did  not  seem  unhaj^py.  They  only 
hoped,  that  God  would  yet  bring  them  to  repentance. 
If  now  they  liad  no  faith,  it  did  not  seem  to  me 
that  tliey  had  any  slavish  fear ;  and  I  could  not  say  a 
word  to  discourage  or  alarm  them,  for  I  certainly 
did  hope  for  them,  since  God  is  '  a  rewarder  of  them 
that  diligently  seek  him^  After  this  I  left  them  to 
themselves. 

Just  before  a  communion  season,  which  came 
about  six  months  after  my  last  interview  with  them,  I 
was  very  agreeably  surprised  by  an  unexpected  visit 
of  this  man  and  his  v/ife,  who  called  upon  me  at 
tlie  time  publicly  appointed  for  conversation  with 
those  who  desired  to  unite  with  the  Church.  They 
had  come  on  that  account.  They  believed  that  God 
had  led  them  to  faith  in  His  Son,  and  they  wished 
to  commemorate  the  Saviour's  death  at  his  table.  I 
had  much  conversation  with  them.  They  could 
not  tell  when  their  faith  or  liope  commenced;  and 
that  was  their  greatest  trouble,  and  the  only  ground 
of  their  hesitation  about  making  a  public  profession 
of  religion.  They  had  been  very  much  alike  in 
their  feelings.     For  months  they  had  been  hap2)y_, 


116  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION, 

not  by  tlie  belief  tliat  tliey  were  Christians,  bnt  in 
the  exercises  of  the  means  of  grace,  and  in  the  hope 
that  God  would  lead  them  in  his  own  way  and  time 
to  religion.  In  this  confidence  they  had  rested,  and 
loved  to  rest.  The  Bible,  and  prayer,  and  religions 
conversation  were  their  delight.  And  it  was  not 
till  they  had  passed  month  after  month  in  this  hap- 
py manner,  that  the  idea  occurred  to  either  of  them, 
that  they  were  the  children  of  God.  The  wife  thought 
of  this  first,  and  the  thought  made  her  unhappy.  "  I 
was  afraid,"  said  she,  "  of  a  false  hope,  and  I  tried  to 
feel  as  I  used  to,  when  I  was  afraid  of  being  lost  for- 
ever." She  mentioned  her  fears  to  her  husband, 
and  was  astonished  to  find  that  he  had  the  same  fear 
about  himself;  because  he  too  had  almost  half  hoped, 
that  he  was  reconciled  to  God  ;  but  had  been  banish- 
ing the  hope  as  a  snare  of  the  great  adversary.  Then 
they  wanted  to  see  me  ;  and  as  I  did  not  visit  them, 
the  wife  proposed,  that  they  should  come  to  see 
me  that  very  day,  for  she  "  wanted  to  know  whether 
she  was  a  Christian  or  not."  After  much  conversa- 
tion, her  husband  told  her  that  no  man  could  tell 
her  that,  for  God  only  could  read  the  heart,  and  it 
would  be  better  to  examine  themselves  alone  for  a 
while.  And  a  week  or  two  afterwards,  he  objected 
to  coming  to  me  at  all  on  such  an  errand,  because 
the  Bible  says,  '  examine  your  oiun  selves  whether  ye 
be  in  the  faith,  prove  your  own  selves  J     Said  he,  "  let 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  Il7 

US  pray,  '  Lord  scarcli  me  and  know  mj  heart,  and 
lead  me  in  tlie  way  everlasting.'  " 

Week  after  week,  their  peace  of  mind  grew  more 
uniform  and  sweet.  They  found,  as  they  thought, 
that  they  loved  God,  that  they  trusted  in  Christ  for 
pardon,  that  they  hated  sin,  and  found  their  greatest 
felicity  in  the  divine  promises,  and  in  the  thoughts 
and  duties  of  religion.  Both  alike,  they  were  deter- 
mined to  serve  their  Lord  and  Master  as  long  as 
they  should  live.  And  because  they  found,  as  they 
believed,  the  evidences  of  religion  in  themselves, 
they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  Chris- 
tians. 

But  when  they  came  to  me,  the  husband  said, 
"  We  have,  after  all,  one  great  trouble.  We  are 
not  fully  sure  that  we  have  had  the  gift  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  We  have  never  been  sensible  of  any  sudden 
change^  and  we  have  had  no  strong  feelings  of  dis- 
tress on  account  of  sin,  or  of  great  joy  on  account 
of  having  faith.  If  I  have  any  religion,  I  want  to 
know  when  it  began  V 

"  Can  you  tell,  sir,  when  your  corn  begins  to 
grow  ? — or  when  your  wheat  begins  to  come  up  ? 
Could  you  tell,  my  dear  madam,  when  those  beauti- 
ful violets  and  pinks  under  your  window  began  to 
come  up  ?" 

She  smiled  upon  me,  with  a  countenance  radiant 
with  new  intelligence  and  joy,  and  burst  into  tears. 


118  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION. 

Said  lier  husband,  after  a  serious,  tlioiightful  pause, 
*'  I  know  my  corn  has  come  up,  and  I  know  my 
wheat  does  grow." 

"  Yery  well,"  said  I ;  "  I  have  no  more  to  say." 
The  wife  turned  to  her  husband,  after  a  few 
minutes,  saying,  "  I  should  like  to  know  when  I 
began  to  love  God :  and,  Luther,  it  seems  to  me 
that  we  have  been  Christians  ever  since  that  first 
night  when  you  prayed." 

They  united  with  the  church,  though  uncertain 
of  the  date  of  their  conversion.  He  became  a  very 
staid  and  thoughtful  Christian.  She  was  a  Christian 
of  light  and  smiles.  Both  were  contented  and 
happy.  "  I  am  glad  we  live  in  this  retired  place," 
said  she  to  me,  a  year  afterwards ;  "we  can  enjoy 
rehgion  here,  and  nobody  comes  to  trouble  us.  We 
have  some  kind  and  pious  neighbors  a  little  way 
off,  who  are  a  gTcat  comfort  to  us ;  but  my  Bible, 
my  boys,  and  my  flowers  are  enough  to  make  me 
happy.  I  would  not  give  up  my  little  home,  my 
cottage,  and  my  woods,  for  the  richest  palace  in  the 
world :" — and  tears  of  joy  coursed  down  her  cheeks 
when  she  said  it.  Adverting  to  her  former  trouble, 
she  said,' — "  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  it 
is  hest  for  me  that  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  fix 
the  time  of  my  conversion ;  I  am  afraid  I  should 
trust  too  much  to  it,  if  I  could.  Now  I  trust  to 
nothing  but  to  continued  faith,  and  to  living  in 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  119 

happy  fellowsliip  with  my  God,  my  Heavenly 
Father.  My  husband  is  happy  too,  and  what  can  I 
want  more,  except  the  conversion  of  my  children  ?" 
As  she  said  this,  she  turned  away^  and  wept. 

Her  husband  died  in  peace,  as  I  have  been  told ;  and 
his  precious  wife,  novv"  a  wido^^,  has  unspeakable  com- 
fort in  two  pious  sons, — her  joy,  and  her  earthly 
crown.  They  will  soon  be  her  eternal  crown  in  the 
kingdom  of  heaven.     I  cannot  doubt  it. 

These  instances  of  conversion  are  here  given,  as 
examples  of  an  extensive  class.  In  making  my 
first  visit  to  the  families  of  my  congregation,  I  met 
with  a  number  of  persons,  who  appeared  to  me  to 
have  some  readiness  to  give  their  attention  to  the 
gospel  call.  They  were  not  anxious,  not  alarmed, 
or,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  term,  serious. 
They  evidently  did  not  consider  themselves  the 
subjects  of  any  special  Divine  influence,  or  as  hav- 
ing any  particular  inclinations  towards  religion. 
But  they  appeared  to  me  to  be  candid  and  con- 
scientious, and  to  have  a  kind  of  readiness  to  obey 
the  gospel.  There  was  an  indescribable  something 
about  them,  I  know  not  what,  which  made  me  have 
more  hope  for  them  than  for  others. 

To  the  names  of  about  twenty  such  persons  I 
attached  a  private  mark  in  my  congregational  book, 
(containing  the  names  of  all  my  congregation,) — a 


120  THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION. 

mark  to  indicate  to  me  their  state  of  mind,  and 
prompt  me  to  visit  tliem  again  as  soon  as  possible, 
but  tlie  meaning  of  wbicli  no  one  but  myself  could 
understand.  If  I  may  say  so,  tlie}^  seemed  ready  to 
become  Christians^ — I  know  not  bow  to  describe 
their  state  of  mind  by  any  more  just  or  intelligible 
expression.  If,  in  the  time  of  a  revival  of  religion, 
they  had  said  the  same  things  which  they  now  said, 
had  presented  the  same  appearances,  and  manifested 
the  same  impressions,  no  minister  or  Christian,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  would  have  hesitated  to  ascribe  their 
impressions  to  the  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
And,  therefore,  why  should  I  not  now  have  that 
opinion  respecting  them  ?  and  why  not  treat  them 
in  all  respects,  as  I  would  have  done  in  the  time  of 
a  revival  ? — and  why  not  expect  the  same  results  ? 

These  were  serious  and  troublesome  questions  to 
my  own  mind.  By  conversation  with  older  and 
more  experienced  pastors,  I  aimed  to  get  some 
instruction  on  this  subject ;  but  all  I  could  learn 
did  not  satisfy  me,  indeed  it  did  not  seem  to  do  me 
the  least  good.  I  found  I  must  teach  myself  what 
nobody  appeared  able  to  teach  me.  And,  however 
just  or  unjust  may  have  been  the  conclusion  to 
which,  by  continued  and  intense  reflection,  my 
mind  was  at  last  brought ;  I  retain  the  same  opinions 
now,  after  a  score  of  years  has  passed  away,  which 
I  formed  at  first.     I  believe  those  persons  had  their 


THE     DATE     OF     CONVERSION.  121 

cast  of  mind  througli  the  influences  of  tlie  Divine 
Spirit.  Almost  every  one  of  those,  to  whose  name 
I  attached  my  private  mark,  within  the  space  of 
two  years  became  hopefully  converted  to  Christ. 

I  often  visited  them,  conversed  with  them,  and 
entreated  them  to  be  reconciled  to  God.  And  the 
greatest  obstacle  (as  it  seemed  to  me),  that  I  had  to 
encounter,  was  their  uniform  impression,  that  God 
had  not  given  them  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  that  it 
would  therefore  be  in  vain  for  them  to  attempt  to 
seek  the  Lord.  It  was  an  exceedingly  difficult 
thing  to  convince  any  one  of  them,  that  the  Holy 
Spirit  was  present,  and  that  their  serious  impress- 
ions, and  occasional  fears,  and  occasional  prayers, 
were  the  effects  of  a  Divine  influence,  and  the  very 
substance  of  a  Divine  call.  But  I  had  myself  been 
led  to  this  conclusion.  I  thought  that  they  them- 
selves ought  to  be  convinced  of  this,  and  ought  not, 
through  ignorance  and  error,  to  be  left  to  misim- 
prove  the  day  of  their  merciful  visitation,  waiting 
for  a  revival  of  religion.  In  almost  every  instance, 
(indeed,  I  do  not  remember  a  single  exception,)  the 
commencement  of  an  earnest  and  hoping  attempt  to 
gain  salvation,  originated  in  the  conviction,  which 
I  strove  hard  to  impress  upon  the  mind,  that  the 
Holy  Spirit  was  already  striving  with  them,  as  really 
as  if  there  was  a  revival  all  around. 

To  the  name  of  the  woman  whom  I  have  meu- 
6* 


122  THE    DATE     OF     CONVERSION, 

tioned  in  this  sketch,  I  attached  my  mystic  mark 
the  first  tuxie  I  ever  saw  her ;  and  to  the  name  of 
her  husband,  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him.  And 
on  this  account,  I  was  led  to  see  them  the  more 
frequently.  I  am  very  certain,  that  I  was  not  at 
all  the  instrument  of  their  conviction^  (or  that  of  the 
conviction  of  twenty  more  like  them ;)  whatever 
assistance  in  other  respects,  the  truths  which  I 
uttered  may  have  been  to  them,  in  leading  them  to 
Christ.  Probably  many,  very  many  sinners,  who 
never  thinh  of  it,  are  visited  by  the  Holy  Spirit. 
Probably  not  a  month  passes,  when  there  are  not 
strivings  of  the  Spirit  with  unconverted  sinners  in 
all  our  congregations.  And  if  such  sinners,  instead 
of  allowing  every  trifle  of  the  world  to  dispel  their 
serious  thoughts,  would  only  cherish  them,  conspir- 
ing with  the  Holy  Spirit ;  there  is  every  reason  to 
believe  that  they  would  become  the  happy-  children 
of  God.  Oh,  if  they  but  knew  how  near  God  is 
unto  them,  and  how  infinitely  willing  He  is,  in  His 
kindness  and  love,  to  lead  them  into  the  ways  of 
salvation ;  they  would  not  suffer  these  seasons  of 
promise  to  pass  by  unimproved :  especially  the  young, 
whose  kindness  of  heart  has  not  yet  been  all  poi- 
soned, or  all  blasted  "by  the  world,  would  not  so  often 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  still,  small  voice  of  the  Spirit. 

"  Their  happy  song  would  ofteuev  be, 
Heai-  what  the  Lord  has  done  for  me." 


a  (DU  llotljrr: 


OR,    C  O  N  S  C  I  IC  N  C  E     IN   TRADE. 

A  YOUNG  man,  wlio  at  that  time  was  almost  an 
entire  stranger  to  me,  called  upon  me  at  a  late  hour 
in  the  evenmg,  and,  after  some  general  conversation, 
said  that  he  wished  to  talk  with  me  in  reference  to 
a  matter  which  had  troubled  him  for  some  time.  He 
came  to  me^  as  he  said,  because  a  few  days  before  he 
had  heard  a  member  of  a  neighboring  church  railing 
against  me,  and  among  other  things,  saying  that  I 
was  stern  and  severe  enough  for  a  slave  driver. 
" So,"  says  he,  "I  thought  you  would  tell  me  the 
truth  right  out." 

He  was  a  junior  clerk  in  a  dry  goods  store — a 
salesman.  He  had  been  in  that  situation  for  some 
months.  He  went  into  it  a  raw  hand.  His  em- 
ployer had  taken  some  pains  to  instruct  him  in  its 
duties^  and  had  otherwise  treated  him  in  a  very  kind 
manner.  But  he  was  expected,  and  indeed  required 
to  do  some  things  which  he  "  did  not  know  to  be 
quite  right."  He  stated  these  things  to  me  with 
minuteness  and   entire   simplicity.     He  had  been 


124  MY     OLD     MOTHER. 

tauglit  by  his  employer  to  do  them,  as  a  part  of  the 
"  necessary  skill  to  be  exercised  in  selling  goods," 
without  which  "  no  man  could  be  a  good  salesman, 
or  be  fit  for  a  merchant." 

For  example,  he  must  learn  to  judge  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  any  woman  who  entered  the  store,  by 
her  dress,  her  manner,  her  look,  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  whether  she  had  much  knowledge  of  the 
commodity  she  wished  to  purchase ;  and  if  she  had  not, 
he  must  put  the  price  higher,  as  high  as  he  thought 
she  could  be  induced  to  pay.  If  there  was  any 
objection  to  the  price  of  an  article  he  must  say,  "  we 
have  never  sold  it  any  cheaper,"  or,  "  we  paid  that 
for  it,  madam,  at  wholesale,"  or,  "  you  cannot  buy 
that  quahty  of  goods  any  lower  in  the  city."  With 
one  class  of  customers  he  must  always  begin  by 
asking  a  half  or  a  third  more  than  the  regular  price, 
because,  probably,  through  the  ignorance  of  the 
customer,  he  could  get  it ;  and  if  he  could  not,  then 
he  must  put  it  at  a  lower  price,  but  still  above  its 
value,  at  the  same  time  saying,  "  that  is  just  what 
we  gave  for  it,"  or,  "  that  is  the  very  lowest  at  which 
we  can  put  it  to  you,"  or,  '*  we  would  not  offer  it 
to  anybody  else  so  low  as  that,  but  we  wish  to  get 
your  custom."  In  short,  a  very  large  portion  of  the 
service  expected  of  him  was  just  this  sort,  and  as 
I  soon  told  him,  it  was  just  to  Z^e,  for  the  purpose  of 
cheating. 


MY     OLD     MOTHER.  125 

"WTienever  lie  licsitatcd  to  practice  in  this  manner 
behind  the  counter,  his  employer  (ordinarily  present) 
was  sure  to  notice  it,  and  sure  to  be  dissatisfied  with 
him. 

He  had  repeatedly  mentioned  to  his  employer  his 
''doubts"  whether  "this  was  just  right,"  and  "got 
laughed  at."  He  was  told,  "  everybody  does  it," 
"you  can't  be  a  merchant  A\rithout  it,"  "  all  is  fair  in 
trade,"  "  you  are  too  green." 

"  I  know  I  am  green,"  said  the  young  man  to 
me,  in  a  melancholy  tone.  "  I  was  brought  up  in 
an  obscure  place  in  the  country,  and  don't  know 
much  about  the  ways  of  the  world.  My  mother  is 
a  poor  woman,  a  widow  woman,  who  was  not  able 
to  give  me  much  education ;  but  I  don't  believe  she 
would  think  it  right  for  me  to  do  such  things." 

"  And  do  you  think  it  right  ?"  said  I. 

"No, — I  don't  know, — perhaps  it  may  be.  Mr.  H.'* 
(his  employer)  "  says  there  is  no  sin  in  it,  and  he  is 
a  member  of  the  church ;  but  I  believe  it  would 
make  my  old  mother  feel  very  bad,  if  she  knew  I 
was  doing  such  things  every  day." 

"  I  venture  to  say,  that  your  mother  has  got  not 
only  more  religion,  but  more  common  sense  than  a 
thousand  like  him.  He  may  be  a  member  of  the 
church,  the  church  always  has  some  unworthy 
members  in  it,  I  suppose ;  but  he  is  not  a  man  fit  to 
direct  you.    Take  your  mother  s  way  and  refuse  his." 


126  MY     OLD     MOTHER. 

"  I  shall  lose  my  place,"  says  lie. 

"  Then  lose  your  place ;  don't  hesitate  a  moment." 

"  I  engaged  for  a  year,  and  my  year  is  not  out." 

"  No  matter  ;  you  are  ready  to  fulfil  your  engage- 
ment. But  what  was  your  engagement  ?  Did  you 
engage  to  deceive,  to  cheat  and  lie  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  at  all." 

"  Then  certainly  you  need  have  no  hesitation, 
through  fear  of  forfeiting  your  place.  If  he  sends 
you  away,  because  you  will  not  do  such  things  for 
him,  then  you  will  know  him  to  be  a  very  bad  man, 
from  whom  you  may  well  be  glad  to  be  separated." 

"  He  says  he  will  have  his  business  done  in  the 
manner  he  chooses." 

"  Yery  well :  you  have  no  objections  to  that;  let 
him  do  his  business  in  the  way  he  chooses :  but  he 
has  no  right  to  make  you  use  your  tongue^  in  the  way 
he  chooses :  and  if  he  complains  of  you,  because  you 
do  not  choose  to  lie  for  him  every  hour  in  the  day ; 
just  tell  him,  that  you  have  not  hired  out  your  con- 
science to  him,  and  you  will  not  be  guilty  of  com- 
mitting any  crimes  for  him.  Ask  him,  if  he  expects 
you  to  steal  for  him,  if  he  should  happen  to  want 
you  to  do  it." 

"  When  I  told  him  I  thought  such  things  wrong, 
he  said,  '  that  is  my  look  out.'  " 

"  Tell  him  it  is  your  look  out,  whether  you  please 
God,  or  offend  Him — whether  you  do  right  or  wrong 


MY     O  MJ     MOTIIEK.  127 

— ^wlietlier  you  serve  the  God  of  trutli,  or  tlie  father 
ofHes." 

"  If  I  should  say  that,  he  would  tell  me  to  be  off." 

"Very  well;  5e  off  then." 

"  I  have  no  place  to  go  to ;  and  he  knows  it." 

"  No  matter  ;  go  anywhere — do  anything — dig 
potatoes — black  boots — sweep  the  streets  for  a  hving, 
sooner  than  yield  for  one  hour  to  such  temptation." 

"  He  says,  '  everybody  does  so,'  and  '  no  man  can 
ever  get  along  in  the  way  of  trade  without  it.'  " 

"About  everybody's  doing  so,  I  know  better. 
That  is  not  true.  Some  men  are  honest  and  truthful 
in  trade.  A  man  may  be  honest  behind  the  counter, 
as  easily  as  in  the  pulpit.  But  if  a  man  can't  be  a 
merchant  without  these  things,  then  he  can't  be  a 
merchant  and  get  to  heaven ;  and  the  sooner  you 
quit  that  business  the  better." 

"  And  in  respect  to  his  declaration,  that  '  no  man 
can  get  along  in  the  way  of  trade  without  such  prac- 
tices,' it  is  false — utterly  false  !  And  I  wish  you  to 
take  notice  of  men  now  when  you  are  young,  as  ex- 
tensivety  as  you  can,  and  see  how  they  come  out. 
You  will  not  have  to  notice  long,  before  you  will 
be  convinced  of  the  truth  of  that  homely  old  maxim, 
'  honesty  is  the  best  policy.'  You  will  soon  see,  that 
such  men  as  he,  are  the  very  men  not  to  '  get  along.' 
He  will  not  '  get  along'  well  a  great  while,  if  he  does 
not  alter  his  course." 


128  MY     OLD     MOTHER. 

''  Oh,  he  is  a  keen  fellow,"  said  the  young  man 
smiling. 

"So  is  old  Satan  a  keen  fellow ;  but  he  is  the 
greatest  fool  in  the  universe.  His  keenness  has  just 
ruined  him.  He  is  an  eternal  bankrupt,  and  can't 
'  take  the  benefit  of  the  Act.'  He  is  such  a  known 
liar,  that  nobody  would  believe  him  under  oath. 
And  your  employer's  keenness  will  turn  out  no  bet- 
ter. He  may,  indeed,  probably  prosper  here.  Such 
men  somethnes  do.  But  the  Bible  has  described 
him — 'they  that  will  be  rich,  fall  into  temptation, 
and  a  snare,  and  into  many  foolish  and  hurtful  lusts 
which  drown  men  in  destruction  and  perdition.' 
He  '  will  be  rich ;'  that  is  what  he  wants ;  his  '  will ' 
is  all  that  way.  And  he  has  fallen  into  the  *  tempta- 
tion' to  lie,  in  order  to  get  rich.  And  this  is  a 
'  snare'  to  him — it  is  a  trap,  and  he  is  caught  in  it ; 
and  if  he  does  not  repent  and  get  out  of  it,  he  will 
be  '  drowned  in  destruction  and  perdition.' 

"  But  I  was  going  to  speak  of  his  worldly  pros- 
perity. I  am  no  prophet,  nor  the  son  of  a  prophet. 
I  do  not  believe,  that  God  will  work  any  miracles 
in  his  case.  But  I  do  believe,  that  man  will  fail ! 
Mark  him  well ;  and  remember  Avhat  I  say,  if  you 
live  to  notice  him  ten  or  twenty  years  hence.  In  my 
opinion,  you  will  see  him  a  poor  man ;  and  probably, 
a  despised  man." 


MY     OLD     MOTHER.  129 

"  What  makes  yoa  think  so?^^  said  he,  with  great 
astonishment. 

"  Because  he  is  not  honest,' — does  not  regard  the 
truth.  His  lying  will  soon  defeat  its  own  purposes. 
His  customers,  one  after  another,  and  especially  the 
best  of  them,  will  find  him  out,  and  they  will  forsake 
him,  because  they  cannot  trust  his  word.  He  will 
lose  more  than  he  will  gain  by  all  the  falsehoods  he 
utters.  I  know  a  dozen  men  in  this  city,  some  of 
them  merchants,  some  butchers,  some  grocers,  some 
tailors,  whom  I  always  avoid,  and  always  will.  If 
I  know  a  man  has  lied  to  me  once,  in  the  way  of  his 
business,  that  ends  all  my  dealings  with  him;  I 
never  go  near  him  afterwards.  Such  is  my  prac- 
tice ;  and  I  tell  my  wife  so,  and  my  children  so. 
And  sometimes,  yea  often,  I  tell  them  the  names  of 
the  men.  If  any  of  my  friends  ask  me  about  these 
men,  I  tell  them  the  truth,  and  put  them  upon  their 
guard.  And  thus  their  custom  is  diminished,  be- 
cause their  character  becomes  known.  This  is  one 
reason  why  I  think  Mr.  H will  not  prosper. 

"But  whatever  the  mode  may  be,  his  reverses 
will  come :  mark  my  words,  they  will  come.  God 
will  make  them  come." 

With  great  depression,  he  replied, — "  I  don't  know 

what  I  could  do^  if  I  should  lose  my  place :  I  don't 

get  but  a  little  more  than  enough  to  pay  my  board, 

— ^my  mother  gives  me  my  clothes,  and  if  I  lose 

6* 


130  MY     OLD     MOTHER. 

my  situation,  I  could  not  pay  my  board  for  a 
montli." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  ''if  you  get  so  little,  you  will  not 
lose  mucli  by  quitting.     I  do  not  pretend  to  know 

much  about  it,  but  in  my  opinion,  Mr.  H wrongs 

you,  does  you  a  positive  injustice^  and  a  cruel  one, 
by  giving  you  so  little.  And  if  you  quit,  and  can- 
not pay  your  board  till  you  get  something  to  do, — 
tell  me^ — I  will  see  to  that."  (He  never  had  occa- 
sion to  tell  me.) 

"  If  I  quit  that  place  so  soon,"  said  the  young 
man,  "  it  will  make  my  old  mother  feel  very  bad ; 
she  will  think  I  am  getting  unsteady,  or  something 
else  is  the  matter  mth  me.  She  will  be  afraid  that 
I  am  going  to  ruin." 

"  Not  a  hit  of  it,''  said  I.  "  Tell  her  just  the  truth, 
and  you  will  fill  her  old  heart  with  joy :  she  will 
thank  God  that  she  has  got  such  a  son, — and  she 
will  send  up  into  heaven  another  prayer  for  you, 
which  I  would  rather  have  than  all  the  gold  of 
Ophir." 

The  young  man's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  I  let 
him  sit  in  silence  for  some  time.  At  length  he  said 
to  me, — 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  stay  there ;  but  I  don't  know 
what  to  do,  or  where  to  look." 

"  Look  to  God  first,  and  trust  Him.  Do  you  think 
He  will  let  you  suffer,  because,  out  of  regard  to  His 


MY     OLD     MOTHER.  181 

commandments,  you  liave  lost  your  place  ?  Never. 
Such  is  not  His  way.     Ask  Him  to  guide  you." 

"  I  am  pretty  much  a  stranger  here,"  said  he, 
with  a  very  dejected  look  ;  "I  know  but  few  people, 
and  I  don't  know  where  I  could  get  anything  to  do." 

"  For  that  very  reason  ask  God  to  guide  you. 
Are  you  accustomed  to  pray?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  at  times,  lately.  Some  months 
ago,  I  began  to  try  to  seek  the  Lord,  after  I  heard 
a  sermon  on  that  subject ;  and  ever  since  that  time, 
off  and  on,  I  have  been  trying.  But  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do  in  my  situation." 

"  Will  you  answer  me  one  question,  as  truly  and 
fiilly  as  you  are  able  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  if  I  think  it  is  right  for  me  to  an- 
swer it." 

"  The  question  is,  has  not  your  seriousness,  and 
has  not  your  trying  to  seek  God,  sometimes  been 
diminished,  yw5^  when  you  have  had  the  most  tempta- 
tion in  the  store,  leading  you  to  do  what  you  thought 
wrong, — even  if  you  did  it  for  another  ?" 

He  sat  in  silence,  apparently  pondering  the  ques- 
tion for  a  few  moments,  and  then  replied, — 

"  Yes, — ^I  believe  it  has." 

"  '  Quench  not  the  Spirit,'  then,"  said  I.  I  then 
entered  into  particular  conversation  with  him  about 
his  religious  feelings,  and  found  that  his  convictions 
of  sin,  and  his  desires  for  salvation,  had  rendered 


132  MY     OLD     MOTHER. 

him  for  some  weeks  particularly  reluctant  to  con- 
tinue in  an  employment,  wliere  he  felt  obliged  to 
practice  so  much  deception.  And  I  thought  I  could 
discover  no  little  evidence  in  the  history  he  gave  me 
of  his  religious  impressions,  that  the  way  of  his  daily 
business  had  been  hostile  to  his  attempts  to  come  to 
repentance.  And  after  I  had  plainly  pointed  out  to 
him  the  demands  of  the  gospel,  and  explained,  as 
well  as  I  could,  the  free  offers  of  its  grace  and  salva- 
tion, to  all  which  he  listened  with  intense  attention 
and  solemnity,  he  asked, — 

"What  would  you  advise  me  to  do  about  my 
business  .^" 

"  Just  this :  go  back  to  your  store,  and  do  all 
your  duties  most  faithfully  and  punctually,  without 
lying.  If  your  employer  finds  fault  with  you,  ex- 
plain to  him  mildly  and  respectfully,  that  you  are 
willing  to  do  all  that  is  right  according  to  the  law 
of  God ;  but  that  you  cannot  consent  to  lie  for  any- 
body. If  he  is  not  a  fool,  he  will  like  you  the  bet- 
ter for  it,  and  prize  you  the  more ;  for  he  will  at 
once  see,  that  he  has  got  one  clerk,  on  whose 
veracity  he  can  depend.  But  if  the  man  is  as  silly 
as  he  is  unconscientious ;  he  will  probably  dismiss 
you  before  long.  After  that,  you  can  look  about 
you,  and  see  what  you  can  do.  And,  rely  upon  it, 
God  will  open  a  way  for  you  somewhere.  But  first 
and  most  of  all,  repent  and  believe  in  Jesus  Christ." 


MYOLDMOTIIER.  183 

Tlie  young  man  left  me,  promising  soon  to  see 
me  again.  He  did  see  me.  He  was  led  to  seek  the 
Lord.  He  became  a  decided  Christian.  He  united 
with  the  church.  But  he  did  not  remain  long  in 
that  store.     His  mode  did  not  please  his  employer. 

However,  he  soon  found  another  place.  He 
established  a  character  for  integrity  and  prompt- 
ness, and  entered  afterwards  into  business  for  him- 
self. He  prospered.  He  prospers  still.  It  is  now 
thirteen  years  since  he  came  to  me  at  that  late  hour 
in  the  evening ;  and  he  is  now  a  man  of  extensive 
propert}'-, — of  high  respectability, — has  a  family, — ■ 
and  is  contented  and  happy.  I  often  hear  of  him, 
as  an  active  and  useful  member  of  a  church  not  far 
distant.  I  sometimes  meet  with  him. '  He  is  still 
accustomed  to  open  all  his  heart  to  me,  when  we 
are  together;  and  it  is  very  pleasant  for  me  to 
notice  his  engagedness  in  religion,  his  respectability 
and  happiness. 

His  employer  became  bankrupt  about  seven 
years  after  he  left  him,  and  almost  as  much  bank- 
rupt in  character,  as  in  fortune.  He  still  lives,  I 
beheve  ;  but  in  poverty,  scarcely  sustaining  himself 
by  his  daily  toil. 

I  attribute  this  young  man's  integrity,  conversion 
and  salvation,  to  his  "  old  mother,"  as  he  always 
fondly  called  her.     But  for  the  lessons  which  she 


134  MY     OLD     MOTHER, 

instilled  into  his  mind,  and  the  hold  which  she  got 
upon  his  conscience,  before  he  was  fifteen ;  I  do  not 
believe  I  should  ever  have  seen  him.  In  my  first 
interview  with  him,  it  was  evident  that  the  thought 
of  his  mother  touched  him  more  tenderly  than  any- 
thing else;  and  to  this  day,  I  scarcely  ever  meet 
him,  and  speak  with  him  of  personal  religion,  but 
some  mention  is  made  of  his  "old  mother." 

The  instance  of  this  young  man  has  led  me  to 
think  much  of  the  dangers  to  which  persons  so 
situated  are  exposed  ;  and  I  think  I  find  in  his  his- 
tory the  clue  to  an  explanation  of  a  melancholy 
fact,  that  has  often  come  under  my  notice.  The 
fact  to  which  I  now  refer  is  simply  this,' — that  many 
young  men  are,  at  times,  evidently  the  subjects  of 
the  alarming  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  Avho, 
nevertheless,  never  become  true  Christians.  And 
this  young  man's  history  goes  far  to  convince  me, 
that  the  Holy  Spirit  is  quenched  and  led  to  depart 
from  them,  by  some  unconscientious  proceedings  in 
their  business.  If  this  young  man  had  yielded  to 
his  employer,  who  can  believe  that  he  ever  would 
have  yielded  to  the  Holy  Spirit  ? 

It  was  not  strange  that  this  young  man  should 
have  felt  a  great  anxiety  about  his  earthly  prospects 
and  prosperity.  He  was  poor.  His  "  Old  Mother" 
was  poor.  He  had  no  friend  to  lean  upon.  In  such. 
a  situation,  I  could  excuse  his  anxiety ;  but,  in  such 


MY     OLD     MOTHER.  135 

a  situation,  it  was  most  sad,  to  have  the  influences 
which  were  around  him  every  hour  of  the  day, 
turning  his  anxiety  into  a  temptation  to  sin.  Be- 
fore I  knew  him,  he  had  ahnost  come  to  believe, 
that  falsehood  was  a  necessary  thing  in  the  transac- 
tion of  business.  He  had  noticed  the  eagerness  of 
his  employer  to  be  rich.  He  had  been  sneered  at 
and  ridiculed  as  "  too  green,"  simply  because  he 
chose  to  act  conscientiously ;  and  this  was  a  trial 
and  a  temptation  very  dangerous  for  a  young  man 
to  encounter.  It  was  a  difficult  thing  for  me,  with 
all  I  could  say,  to  pluck  him  out  of  this  snare  of  the 
Devil.  And  I  deem  it  quite  probable,  that  large 
numbers  of  our  young  men  are  kept  from  seeking 
God,  by  an  undue  anxiety  about  worldly  things, — 
an  anxiety,  fostered  an?!  goaded  on  to  madness,  by 
the  spirit,  example  and  influence  of  their  employers. 
By  this  unwise  and  uncalled-for  anxiety  to  be  rich, 
the  heart  is  harassed,  the  conscience  is  beclouded 
by  some  smooth  sophistry,  the  Holy  Spirit  is  resist- 
ed, and  heaven  forgotten  ;  and  all  this,  at  that  very- 
age,  when  the  heart  ought  to  be  happy,  and  when, 
as  the  character  is  forming,  it  is  most  important 
that  God's  word  and  God's  Spirit  should  not  be  un- 
heeded. By  this  anxiety  to  be  rich  the  bright  morn- 
ing of  youth  is  overhung  with  dark  clouds  of  care, 
and  the  immortal  soul  is  grappled  to  the  world  as 
with  chains  of  iron  !     No  young  man  should  feel 


136  MY     OLD     MOTHER. 

himself  qualified  or  safe,  in  entering  upon  the  busi- 
ness of  the  world,  till  his  hope  is  fixed  on  Christ, 
and  his  unalterable  determination  is,  to  obey  God, 
and  gain  heaven,  whatever  else  he  loses.  And  it 
would  be  well  for  every  such  young  man,  when  sur- 
rounded by  the  influences  of  an  eager  and  craving 
covetousness  and  its  thousand  temptations,  to  hold 
the  world  in  check,  and  be  led  to  prayer,  by  the  re- 
membrance of  his  "  Old  Mother." 


I  HAVE  known  few  seasons  of  greater  coldness 
and  less  promise  in  respect  to  the  prosperity  of  re- 
ligion, than  was  the  time  when  a  young  woman 
called  upon  me,  to  ask  what  she  should  do  to  be 
saved.  Her  call  somewhat  surprised  me.  I  had  not 
expected  it.  I  had  never  noticed  any  particular 
seriousness  in  her.  But  now,  she  was  evidently 
very  much  awakened  to  a  sense  of  her  duty  and 
danger,  and  was  evidently  in  earnest  in  seeking  the 
favor  of  God. 

After  some  conversation  with  her,  and  giving  her 
such  instruction  as  I  thought  adapted  to  her  state  of 
mind ;  I  asked  what  it  was  that  had  induced  her  to 
give  her  attention  to  the  subject  of  religion  now,  any 
more  than  formerly.  She  replied,  "it  was  what 
you  said  to  me  one  evening,  as  we  were  coming  out 
of  the  Lecture-room.  As  you  took  me  by  the  hand, 
you  said,  '  Mary,  one  thing  is  needful.''  You  said  no- 
thing else,  and  passed  on  ;  but  I  could  not  forget  it." 
I  had  forgotten  it  entirely,  but  it  had  fastened  one 
thought  deep  in  hei  mind. 


138  ONE     WORDTO     A     SINNER. 

Tlie  sermon,  which  I  had  just  preached,  and  to 
which  she  had  listened,  had  been  of  no  avail  to  her ; 
but  she  could  not  forget  the  personal  address  to  her- 
self, "  Mary,  one  thing  is  needful."  She  is  now,  as 
I  trust,  in  possession  of  that  "one  thing." 

How  much  more  efficacious  is  a  message  than  a 
proclamation — a  personal  than  a  public  address — a 
letter  than  a  newspaper.  The  one  is  to  the  heart,  but 
the  other  scarcely  appears  designed  for  it.  The  one 
is  to  us,  peculiarly,  especially ;  the  other  to  every- 
body. — to  us  indeed,  as  we  form  a  part  of  the  multi- 
tude, but  that  is  very  seldom  what  the  heart  wants 
or  likes.  One  word  to  a  sinner  is  often  more  effect- 
ual, than  a  score  of  sermons.  Indeed,  the  secret  of 
convicting  sinners  lies  just  in  this — leading  them  to  a 
personal  application  of  the  truth. 

Yet  let  us  not  despise  sermons.  They  are  the 
appointment  of  God,  and  the  great  means  of  con- 
version. The  sermons,  which  Mary  had  heard, 
were  probably  the  very  things  which  prepared  her 
to  be  awakened  by  a  private  word,  and  without 
which,  that  word,  probably,  would  have  been  in 
vain.  Still,  it  is  quite  probable  that  the  sermons 
would  have  been  in  vain  without  that  private  and 
personal  monition,  "  Mary,  one  thing  is  needful." 


The  title  wliich  I  have  given  to  tliis  sketch,  is 
taken  from  the  lips  of  a  young  man,  who  aftcr^Yards 
became  a  member  of  my  church.  He  had  called 
upon  me  for  conversation  upon  the  subject  of  his 
religious  duty ;  and  after  conversing  Avith  him,  and 
saying  such  things  to  him  as  I  thought  appropriate 
to  his  state  of  mind,  I  asked  him  how  it  came  about 
that  he  had  not  given  his  j)rayerful  attention  to  the 
subject  of  religion  before. 

"  Nobody  said  anything  to  me,"  says  he. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  /  have  said  a  great  many 
things  to  you." 

"  I  know  you  have  in  sermons ;  but  I  mean,  no- 
body said  anything  to  me  in  particular^  before 
yesterday." 

"Who  said  anything  to  you  yesterday?" 

"  Henry  Clapp,"  said  he,  (naming  a  young  man 
who  had  recently  entertained  a  hope  in  God.) 

"What  did  Henry  say  to  you?" 

"As  I  met  him  in  the  street,"  says  he,  "he 
Stopped  me,  and  told  me  he  had  something  to  say 


140  NOBODY    SAID     ANYTHING    TO     ME. 

to  me,  and  asked  me  if  lie  might  say  it.  I  said 
yes,  lie  might.  And  then  he  said,  '  It  is  high  time 
for  you  to  begin  to  seek  the  Lord.'  " 

"And  what  did  you  answer?" 

"  I  hardly  had  time  to  answer  at  all,  for  he  passed 
right  on.  But  I  said  to  him,  when  he  had  got  a 
few  feet  from  me,  'So  it  is  Henry.'  He  turned 
back  his  face  partly  toward  me,  looking  over  his 
shoulder,  and  answered,  '  do  it  tlien^^  and  went  right 
on." 

"Have  you  seen  him  since?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  You  say,  nobody  said  anything  to  you  before. 
If  he,  or  some  one  else,  had  spoken  to  you  before, 
do  you  think  you  would  have  begun  before  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  should." 

Such  was  the  opinion  of  this  young  man.  To 
this  opinion  he  adhered  long  after.  The  last  time 
I  spoke  to  him  on  that  subject,  he  said  to  me  that 
he  believed  he  "  should  have  sought  the  Lord  years 
hefore^  if  anybody  had  spoken  to  him  about  it." 

Here,  then,  was  a  young  man,  living  in  the  midst 
of  a  Christian  community  till  he  was  more  than 
twenty  years  old,  a  regular  attendant  at  church, 
known  to  scores  of  Christian  men  and  women ;  and 
yet,  "nobody  said  anything  to  him!"  The  first 
sentence  that  was  uttered  to  him  was  not  lost  upon 
him. 


NOBODY  SAID  ANY  THING  TO  ME.     141 

There  are  few  points  of  duty  more  difficult  for 
wise  and  engaged  Christians  to  decide,  than  it  is  to 
decide  what  they  shall  say,  or  whether  they  shall 
say  anything,  to  the  irreligious  persons  whom  they 
are  accustomed  to  meet.  Many  times  they  are 
afraid  to  say  anything  to  them  on  the  subject  of 
religion,  lest  they  should  do  them  an  injury  by 
awakening  opposition  or  disgust. 

No  man  can  teach  them  their  duty.  What  may 
be  the  duty  of  one,  may  not  be  the  duty  of  another. 
The  question  depends  upon  so  many  things,  upon 
character,  upon  intimacy,  upon  time,  place,  occasion, 
age,  and  a  thousand  other  circumstances,  that  no 
wise  man  will  ever  attempt  to  lay  down  any  general 
rule  upon  the  subject.  But  if  a  Christian's  heart 
longs  for  the  conversion  of  sinners  as  it  ought,  he 
will  not  be  likely  to  err.  If  he  speaks  to  an  uncon- 
verted sinner,  in  love,  and  alone,  and  without  dis- 
putation, and  in  humility,  and  in  the  spirit  of 
prayer,  his  words  will  do  no  harm.  He  may  not  be 
able  to  do  good,  but  at  least  he  can  try.  The  un- 
converted in  the  midst  of  God's  people,  meeting 
them  every  day,  their  friends,  their  associates,  and 
neighbors,  certainly  ought  not  to  be  able  to  declare, 
"  nobody  said  anything  to  me," — "  no  man  cared  for 
m}^  soul." 


lamilj)  frajirr. 


A  MiLN  of  my  congregation,  about  forty  years  of 
age,  after  quite  a  protracted  season  of  anxiety,  be- 
came, as  lie  hoped,  a  child  of  God.  There  was 
nothing  in  his  convictions  or  in  his  hopefid  conver- 
sion, so  far  as  I  could  discern,  of  any  very  peculiar 
character,  unless  it  was  the  distinctness  of  his  re- 
ligious views  and  feelings. 

But  this  man  did  not  propose  to  unite  with  the 
church,  as  I  had  supposed  he  would  deem  it  his 
duty  to  do.  One  season  of  communion  after  another 
passed  by,  and  he  still  remained  away  from  the  table 
of  the  Lord.  I  was  surprised  at  this,  and  the  more 
so  on  account  of  the  steady  interest  in  religion,  and 
the  fixed  faith  in  Christ  which  he  appeared  to  possess. 
I  conversed  plainly  with  him,  upon  the  duty  of  a 
pubHc  profession  of  his  faith.  He  felt  it  to  be  his 
duty,  but  he  shrunk  from  it.  He  had  a  clear  hope, 
was  constant  at  church,  was  prayerful,  but  he  hesi- 
tated to  confess  Christ  before  men.  All  the  ground 
of  hesitation  which  I  could  discover  as  I  conversed 
with  him,  was  a  fear  that  he  might  dishonor  religion, 


FAMILY     PRAYfifl.  143 

if  he  professed  it,  and  a  desire  to  have  a  more  as- 
sured hope.  What  I  said  to  him  on  these  points 
appeared  to  satisfy  him,  and  yet  he  stayed  away 
from  the  Lord's  table,  though  he  said,  "  I  should  feel 
it  a  great  privilege  to  be  there." 

In  aiming  to  diseover,  if  possible,  why  a  man  of 
such  clear  religious  views,  of  such  aj)parent  faith, 
and  so  much  fixed  hope  in  religion,  should  liesitate 
on  a  point  of  duty  which  he  himself  deemed  obli- 
gatory upon  him ;  I  learned,  to  my  surprise,  that  he 
had  never  commenced  the  duty  of  family  prayer. 
He  felt  an  inexpressible  reluctance  to  it — ^a  reluctance 
for  which  he  could  not  account.  He  wondered  at 
himself,  but  still  he  felt  it.  He  blamed  himself, 
but  still  he  felt  it.  This  cleared  up  the  mj-s- 
tery.  I  no  longer  wondered  at  all  at  his  hesitation 
on  the  matter  of  an  open  profession  of  religion. 
I  had  not  a  doubt,  but  his  fears  of  dishonoring  re- 
ligion, and  his  waiting  for  greater  assurance  of  hope, 
all  arose  from  the  neglect  of  family  prayer.  I  told 
him  so,  and  urged  that  duty  upon  ^lim,  as  one  that 
should  precede  the  other.  His  wife  urged  it ;  but 
yet  he  omitted  it.  Finally,  I  went  to  his  house,  and 
commenced  that  service  with  him.  He  continued  it 
from  that  time,  and  from  that  time  his  difiiculties 
all  vanished.  Before  he  united  with  the  church,  he 
said  to  me,  "  it  was  a  great  trial  to  me  to  commence 
praying  with  my  family,  but  now  it  is  my  delight. 


144  FAMILY     PRAYER. 

1  woTild  not  omit  it  on  any  account.  Since  I  have 
commenced  it  I  find  it  a  joyful  duty.  It  comforts 
and  strengthens  me."  He  had  now  no  hesitation  in 
coming  out  before  the  world,  and  openly  professing 
his  faith  in  Christ. 

Neglect  of  one  duty  often  renders  us  unfit  for 
another.  God  '  is  a  re  warder,'  and  one  great  prin- 
ciple on  which  he  dispenses  his  rewards  is  this — 
through  our  faithfulness  in  one  thing  he  bestows 
grace  upon  us  to  be  faithful  in  another.  '  To  him 
that  hath  shall  be  given,  and  he  shall  have  abund- 


oil,   FREEDOM   AND   SOVEREIGNTY. 

I  CASUALLY  met  a  member  of  my  cliurcli  in  the 
street,  and  the  nature  of  some  conversation  which 
was  introduced,  led  him  to  ask  me,  if  I  recollected 
the  conversation  I  had  Avith  him,  at  the  time  when 
he  first  called  upon  me  for  conversation  upon  the 
subject  of  religion.  I  had  forgotten  it  entirely.  He 
then  referred  to  the  period  of  his  trouble,  before  he 
entertained  any  hope  in  Christ,  and  mentioned  the 
particular  subject  about  which  he  came  to  consult  me. 
But  I  had  no  recollection  of  what  I  had  said  to  him. 
He  then  stated  the  conversation  in  his  own  way,  and 
I  afterwards  solicited  of  him  the  favor  to  write  it 
down  for  me,  which  he  kindly  did,  (omitting  the 
name  of  the  minister  he  mentioned,)  and  I  here 
transcribe  it  from  his  letter,  which  lies  before  me. 

"  At  a  time  when  my  thoughts  were  led,  as  I  trust, 
by  the  Holy  spirit,  to  dwell  more  than  had  been 
usual  with  me,  on  God  and  eternity  in  their  rela- 
tions to  myself,  and  I  was  endeavoring  to  get  light 
from  a  more  particular  examination  of  the  doctrines 
of  the  Bible  than  I  had  ever  before  made ;  great  dif- 
7 


146  DOCTRINES     RECONCILED. 

ficulties  were  presented  to  my  mind  bj  the  apparent 
inconsistency  of  one  doctrine  witli  another,  I  could 
believe  tliem,  each  by  itself;  but  could  not  believe 
tbem  all  together ;  and  so  great  did  this  difficulty 
become,  that  it  seemed  to  me  like  an  insuperable 
obstacle  in  a  narrow  path,  blocking  up  my  way,  and 
excluding  all  hope  of  progress.  But  I  was  still  led 
to  look  at  this  obstacle  with  a  sincere  desire,  I  be- 
lieve, for  its  removal. 

"  While  in  this  state  of  mind,  a  friend  solicited 
me  to  converse  with  a  minister  of  much  experience 
and  high  reputation  for  learning.  I  visited  him  in 
his  study,  and  was  cordially  invited  to  make  known 
my  feelings,  with  the  promise  of  such  assistance  as 
he  could  render.  I  then  asked,  if  he  could  explain 
to  me  liow  God  could  be  the  ever-present  and  ever- 
active  sovereign  of  all  things,  controlling  and  direct- 
ing matter  and  spirit,  and  man  be  left  free  in  his 
ways  and  choice,  and  responsible  for  all  his  actions. 
He  replied,  that  he  thought  he  could  explain  and  re- 
move this  difficulty ;  and  commenced  a  course  of 
argument  and  illustration,  the  peculiar  mode  and 
nature  of  which  I  have  now  forgotten,  but  in  which 
my  untrained  mind  soon  became  utterly  lost  and 
confused,  as  in  a  labyrinth.  And  when,  after  his 
remarks  had  been  extended  many  minutes,  he 
paused,  and  asked  if  I  now  apprehended  the  matter ; 
I  felt  obliged  to  confess  to  him  that  I   did  not 


DOCTRINES     RECONCILED.  147 

understand  anything  about  it.  He  then  (without 
any  discourtesy,  however,)  intimated  that  my  mind 
was  not  capable  of  mastering  a  logical  deduction  of 
that  nature ;  and  I  retired  somewhat  mortified,  and 
in  much  doubt  whether  the  foult  was  in  myself,  the 
subject,  or  the  reasoning  I  had  heard. 

"  A  short  time  after  this,  I  called  upon  another 
well-known  minister,  who  had  invited  any  to  visit 
him  who  were  desirous  of  conversing  on  religious 
subjects.  After  a  little  general  conversation,  I  re- 
peated to  him  the  same  question  that  I  had  before 
addressed  to  the  other  minister,  adding  that  I  had 
been  told  that  it  could  be  clearly  explained,  and 
asking  him  if  he  could  thus  explain  it  to  me.  After 
a  moment's  pause  he  made  this  reply, — '  Ao, — nor 
any  other  man  that  ever  lived.  If  any  man  says  he 
can  explain  that^  he  says  what  is  not  true.'  This 
short  and  somewhat  abrupt  answer,  spoken  with 
great  emphasis,  produced  a  remarkable  effect  upon 
my  mind.  A  sense  of  the  incomprehensibility  of 
God  seemed  to  burst  upon  me  with  great  power.  His 
doctrines  now  appeared  to  me  as  parts  of  His  ways, 
and  His  ways  as  past  finding  out.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  sud- 
denly and  almost  violently  been  placed  on  the  other 
side  of  the  obstruction,  which,  with  others  of  its  kind, 
had  blocked  up  my  path.  And  although  they  were 
still  there,  and  still  objects  of  wonder  and  admira- 
tion, they  were  no  longer  in  the  way. 


148  DOCTRINES     RECONCILED. 

*'  After  a  few  moments,  mj  instructor  added,  that 
he  thonglit  lie  could  convince  me  of  the  truth  of  the 
the  two  doctrines  I  had  named  in  connection  ;  and 
by  a  short  and  simple  course  of  argument,  beginning 
with  God  as  the  Author  of  all  things,  he  made  more 
clear  and  distinct  to  my  apprehension  the  entire 
sovereignty  of  God  over  all  His  works  ;  and  also  od 
the  other  point,  beginning  with  every  man's  con- 
sciousness of  freedom  of  will,  he  showed  me  the  in- 
disputable evidence  on  which  that  truth  rests.  And 
then  alluding  to  the  axiom,  that  all  truth  is  consist- 
ent with  itself,  and  separate  truths  with  each  other, 
he  left  the  subject  to  my  reflections. 

"  I  may  be  permitted  to  add,  that  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  judge  of  the  wisdom  of  the  modes  adopted 
by  these  two  ministers,  as  applied  to  other  minds 
than  my  own, — ^but  in  my  own  case  I  very  well 
know,  that  the  most  labored  reasonings  and  explana- 
tions could  not  have  been  half  as  effectual  in  resolv- 
ing my  difficulty,  as  that  plain,  direct  answer  before 
quoted. 

"  Although  years  have  elapsed  since  these  conver- 
sations occurred,  the  one  last  mentioned  is  still  vivid 
in  my  memory,  and  its  permanent  usefulness  to 
me  is  frequently  realized,  when  vain  speculations 
on  subjects  not  to  be  understood  intrude  themselves 
upon  my  mind." 


DOCTRINES     RECONCILED.  149 

Things  hidden  belong  to  God :  things  revealed  be- 
long to  lis.  Little  is  gained  by  attempting  to  invade 
the  province  of  God's  mysteries.  Every  man  will 
attempt  it.  Such  is  human  nature.  Mind  will  not 
willingly  stop  at  the  boundaries,  which  God  has 
for  the  present  prescribed  for  it.  But  in  vain  will  it 
strive  to  overpass  them.  '  We  know  in  part.  When 
that  which  is  perfect  is  come,  then  that  which  is  in 
part  shall  be  done  away.' 

There  is  one  great  reason  why  ^YQ  cannot  know 
everj^thing — simply  because  we  are  not  God.  The 
only  real  religious  utility,  which  grows  out  of  the 
attempt  to  understand  things  not  revealed  to  us,  is 
to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  such  an  attempt  may 
humble  us:  it  may  show  us  what  inferior  beings 
we  are,  how  ignorant,  how  hemmed  in  on  every 
side;  and  thus  compel  us  to  give  God  His  own 
high  place,  infinitely  above  us,  and  hence  infinitely 
beyond  us. 

If  I  am  not  mistaken,  those  men,  those  ministers, 
who  so  strenuously  aim  to  vindicate  God's  ways  to 
man,  to  make  clear  what  God  has  not  revealed,  do, 
in  fact,  degrade  our  ideas  of  God  more  than  they  il- 
luminate our  understandings.  They  make  God  ap- 
pear not  so  far  off,  not  so  much  above  us.  K  they 
suppose  that  they  have  shed  any  light  upon  those 
unrevealed  things  which  belong  to  God,  it  is  quite 
probable  that  they  suppose  so,  very  much  because 


150  DOCTRINES     RECONCILED. 

they  have  levelled  down  liis  cliaracter  and  ways  to- 
wards the  grade  of  their  own.  Tlius  they  may  lead 
us  to  pride,  but  not  to  humihty ;  they  have  not 
brought  us  nearer  to  God,  but  have  done  something 
to  make  us  feel  that  God  is  very  like  one  of  our- 
selves ;  they  have  not  given  us  more  knowledge,  but 
convinced  us  (erroneously,)  that  we  are  not  quite  so 
ignorant  and  limited  after  all.  This  is  an  unhappy 
result.  It  would  be  better  to  have  the  opposite  one, 
to  make  us  feel  that  God  is  God,  and  therefore  in- 
scrutable. '  He  holdeth  back  the  face  of  his  throne 
and  spreadeth  his  cloud  upon  it.'  Better  far  to  show 
a  sinner  '  the  cloud,'  and  hold  his  eye  upon  it,  and 
make  him  stand  in  awe,  and  feel  his  own  ignorance 
and  insignificance,  than  to  make  him  think  (errone- 
ously,) that  there  is  no  '  cloud'  there. 

Somewhere  the  human  mind  must  stop.  We  can- 
not know  everything.  Much  is  gained  when  we  be- 
come fully  convinced  of  this ;  and  something  more 
is  gained  when  we  are  led  to  see  clearly  the  line, 
which  divides  the  regions  of  our  knowledge  from 
the  regions  of  our  ignorance.  That  dividing  line 
lies  very  much  between  facts  and  modes.  The  facts 
are  on  the  one  side  of  it,  the  modes  are  on  the  other. 
The  facts  are  on  our  side,  and  are  matters  of  know- 
ledge to  us  (because  suitably  proved)  ;  the  modes  are 
on  GocPs  side,  and  are  matters  of  ignorance  to  us 
(because  not  revealed).     "  How^^  God  could  be  an 


DOCTRINES     RECONCILED.  161 

efficient  and  sovereign  Ruler  over  all  things  and  yet 
man  be  free  to  will  and  to  do,  was  the  question 
which  troubled  this  young  man,  when  he  first  began 
to  seek  God.  It  was  not  a  question  of  /ad,  but  of 
mode^  ("  how  ?"),  and  therefore,  not  a  thing  of  duty ; 
and  therefore,  a  thing  of  difficulty  to  him,  if  he  chose 
to  meddle  with  it. 

Now  what  shoidd  I  say  to  him  ?  It  seemed  to  me, 
to  be  at  once  honest  and  wise  to  tell  him  the  plain 
truth  ^ — "  iVb, — nor  any  other  man  ;  no  man  ever  did 
explain  it,  or  ever  will.  K  any  man  says  he  can  ex- 
plain it,  he  says  what  is  not  truer  That  was  the 
fit  answer,  because  tlie  true  one.  The  young  man 
in  his  account  of  that  answer,  very  politely  calls  it 
"somewhat  abrupt;"  but  he  might  very  justly  have 
called  it  by  a  less  gentle  name,  hlunt.  In  my  opin- 
ion, that  was  the  very  excellence  of  it — that  is  the 
reason  why  the  answer  answered  its  purj^ose.  It 
was  the  truth  condensed  and  unmistakable.  At  a 
single  dash  it  swept  away  his  army  of  difficulties. 
It  showed  him  that  he  had  been  laboring  at  an  im- 
possibility— at  a  thing  beyond  man — a  thing  with 
which  he  had  nothing  to  do,  but  believe  it  and  let 
it  alone,  and  let  God  take  care  of  it.  He  says,  "  a 
sense  of  the  incomprehensibility  of  God  seemed  to 
burst  upon  me  with  great  power.  His  doctrines 
now  appeared  to  me  as  parts  of  His  ways,  and  His 
ways  as  past  finding  out,"     Again  he  says,   "  the 


152  DOCTRINES     RECONCILED. 

most  labored  reasonings  and  explanations  could  not 
have  been  half  as  effectual  in  resolving  my  difficulty, 
as  that  plain,  direct  answer."  Its  excellence  con- 
sisted in  this — it  was  plain,  just  the  whole,  blunt 
truth.  He  says  it  was  "permanently  useful,"  to 
keep  him  from  "  vain  speculations."  Its  utility  was 
just  this :  it  led  him  to  give  God  the  place  which 
belongs  to  Him,  and  take  his  own. 

His  trouble  undoubtedly  was,  that  he  could  not 
see  "  how"  the  doctrines  he  mentioned  were  recon- 
cilable. But  they  did  not  need  any  reconciling. 
They  do  not  quarrel.  God  is  an  efficient  sovereign 
over  all.  That  is  one  of  the  doctrines  ;  and  it  was 
easily  demonstrated  to  his  entire  satisfaction.  Any- 
body can  demonstrate  it.  Man  is  free  and  account- 
able. That  is  the  other  doctrine ;  and  it  was  easily 
demonstrated.  Anybody  can  demonstrate  it.  Both 
the  doctrines  are  trite^  therefore,  and  hence  they  need 
no  reconciling.  There  is  no  inconsistency  betwixt 
them.     That  is  enough. 

If  any  one  choose  to  atttempt  to  go  beyond  this, 
and  by  any  metaphysical  explanation  of  God's  sov- 
ereign efficiency  on  the  one  hand,  and  man's  freedom 
on  the  other,  explain  "  how  "  the  two  things  can  be 
true,  he  will  flounder  in  the  mud — ^he  will  '  darken 
counsel  by  words  without  knowledge.' 

An  unconverted  sinner  is  not  reconciled  to  God, 
and  this  is  the  very  reason  why  he  is  not  reconciled 


DOCTRINES  RECONCILED.  153 

to  the  doctrines  of  God.  In  my  opinion  these  doc- 
trines ought  always  to  be  presented  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  indicate  their  high  origin,  as  to  show  they 
arc  like  God.  Then^  an  unconverted  sinner  will  be 
apt  to  see  that  he  dislikes  the  doctrines,  just  because 
he  dislikes  God ;  and  thus  his  convictions  of  an  evil 
heart  will  become  more  fixed  and  clear ;  or,  at  least, 
he  will  perceive  that  the  doctrines  are  just  such  as 
he  ought  to  expect,  because  they  precisely  accord 
with  their  Infinite  Author.  Let  him  be  reconciled 
to  God,  and  he  will  find  httle  trouble  with  the  doc- 
trines. But  let  him  be  reconciled  to  God  as  He  iSy 
an  incomprehensible  sovereign,  an  infinite  mystery 
to  a  finite  mind,  '  the  high  and  lofty  One,  who  in- 
habiteth  eternity.'  If  he  is  reconciled  to  false 
notions  of  God,  all  his  religion  will  be  likely  to  be 
false.  A  comprehensible  God  is  no  God  at  all,  for 
what  is  comprehensible  is  not  infinite.  Let  men 
beware  of  '  intruding  into  those  things  which  they 
have  not  seen,  vainly  pufied  up  with  their  fleshly 

mind.' 

7* 


I  Can't  fraa: 

OR,    THE    TWO     SISTERS. 

I  HAPPENED  to  be  seated  in  the  library  of  a  liter- 
ary Institution  witli  an  intimate  friend,  when  two 
young  ladies  entered  the  room,  whom  he  introduced 
to  me  as  sisters,  who  had  come  from  a  distant  State 
to  be  pupils  under  his  care.  I  had  never  heard  of 
them  before.  The  elder  one  appeared  to  be  about 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  the  other,  perhaps  two 
years  younger.  My  friend  was  soon  called  out  of 
the  room  for  a  few  moments,  and  I  was  left  alone 
with  them.  I  thought  the  opportunity  too  good 
to  be  lost,  and  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  speak  to 
them,  on  the  subject  of  their  salvation.  In  a  brief 
conversation  upon  common  topics,  which  I  en- 
deavored to  shape  in  such  a  manner  as  to  prepare 
the  way  for  my  design,  I  was  much  pleased  with 
them.  I  thought  they  manifested  more  than  an 
ordinary  share  of  talent,  and  I  was  particularly 
pleased  with  the  frankness  and  simplicity  of  their 
manners,  and  more  than  £|,11  with  their  manifest  sis- 
terly affection; 


I    can't   pray.  155 

I  inquired  whether  they  were  members  of  any 
church.  They  Avcre  not.  "  And  do  you  think  you 
are  yet  living  without  any  religion  ?"  said  I.  "  We 
are  not  Christians,"  was  the  answer.  Their  mother 
was  a  member  of  the  church,  and  they  told  me  that 
they  had  themselves  "  studied  religion,"  as  they  ex- 
pressed it,  "a  great  deal,"  and  ''thought  about  it 
very  often,"  but  they  said,  "  we  are  not  Christians." 
"And  why  not?"  said  I.  The  question  appeared 
to  confuse  them  a  little,  and  I  endeavored  to  relieve 
their  embarrassment  by  some  general  remarks,  such 
as  demanded  no  specific  reply.  I  asked  permission 
to  call  and  see  them. 

A  little  more  than  a  week  afterwards  I  had  an 
interview  with  them.  I  was  still  more  |3leased  with 
them  than  I  had  been  before.  They  were  frank, 
gentle,  simple-hearted,  and  without  affectation,  But 
in  respect  to  their  religious  inclinations  I  found  little 
to  please  me,  and  still  less  in  respect  to  their  religious 
opinions.  Their  minds  appeared  to  be  stored  with  a 
species  of  metaphysical  ideas  on  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion, which  I  could  not  reconcile  to  the  Bible  or 
to  common  sense,  but  to  which  they  tenaciously 
adhered,  as  being  in  accordance  with  the  teachings 
which  they  had  always  heard  from  the  pulpit.  As 
I  entreated  them  to  give  their  attention  to  their  sal- 
vation immediately,  all  I  could  say  appeared  to  be 
warded  off,  or  its  truth  rendered  vain  by  a  single 


156  I   can't   prat. 

idea.  That  idea  would  constantly  come  out  in  some 
sucli  question  as  "  how  can  we  seek  God  with  such 
hearts  ?"  or,  "  how  can  we  do  anything  without  the 
Holy  Spirit?"  or,  "  what  can  we  do  if  God  does  not 
give  us  the  right  motives  ?"  This  was  their  one 
difficulty.  They  maintained  with  true  metaphysical 
courage  and  acumen,  that  they  could  do  nothing, 
and  any  attempt  to  seek  the  Lord  must  be  useless, 
because  their  hearts  were  wrong,  and  they  could  not 
therefore  "  seek  Him  with  the  right  feelings,"  as 
they  expressed  it.  No  act,  no  attempt,  no  thought  of 
theirs,  "  could  possibly  be  acceptable  to  Him,"  or  of 
"  any  avail  "  for  themselves.  They  clung  to  this 
idea  constantly  and  tenaciously. 

I  supposed  at  first,  that  this  was  only  a  casual 
thought  which  had  occurred  to  them ;  but  in  a 
second  interview,  I  found  them  just  the  same  as  in 
the  first.  The  idea  which  hindered  them  from  any 
serious  attempt  in  religion,  had  become  interwoven 
with  all  their  religious  thoughts  and  feelings, — had 
been  entertained  so  long  and  employed  so  often, 
that  now  it  came  up  spontaneously,  and  spread  itself 
over  every  thought  about  personal  religion.  They 
presented  it  so  naturally,  so  easily,  and  in  such  varied 
shapes  and  connections,  that  I  began  to  despair  of 
having  any  influence  over  them.  However,  I  re- 
solved to  try. 

I  took  care  to  assure  them  of  the  deep  interest  I 


I   can't   tray.  157 

took  in  tliem  already,  wliicli  I  certainly  could  do 
with  entire  sincerity,  for  tliey  liad  won  my  esteem, 
and  it  made  me  sad  of  lieart  to  see  two  such  esti- 
mable girls  entangled  in  the  snares  of  such  a  decep- 
tion. I  aimed  to  win  their  confidence  ;  and  before 
I  left  them,  having  now  learned  their  cast  of  mind, 
and  their  peculiar  religious  difiiculty,  I  assured  them 
most  affectionately  that  they  were  mistaken  in  many 
of  their  notions,  and  that  they  certainly  might  find 
the  favor  of  God,  if  they  would  seek  it  in  the  Bible 
way.  To  give  some  practical  point  and  direction  to 
their  thoughts,  I  desired  them  to  read  carefully  and 
with  prayer  the  fifty-fifth  chapter  of  Isaiah,  as  proof 
of  the  truth  of  what  I  told  them,  and  especially  as  a 
specimen  of  the  manner,  in  which  their  heavenly 
Father  calls  to  them  and  counsels  them  in  His  in- 
finite 'kindness  and  love.'  They  both  promised  to 
read  it,  but  I  noticed  that  they  did  not  promise  to 
pray  over  it,  as  I  had  requested  them  to  do. 

They  were  very  much  alike  in  all  their  ideas 
about  religion.  Their  hindrance  was  the  same.  I 
resolved,  therefore,  to  converse  with  each  one  sepa- 
rately after  this,  because  I  perceived  that  they 
mutually  hindered  each  other; — for  wlien  one  of 
them  would  say,  "  I  can't  seek  the  Lord  with  such  a 
heart,"  the  other  would  often  reiterate  the  same  idea 
in  some  other  form,  manifestly  supported  and  con- 
firmed in  her  strange  notion.     Urged  separately  to 


158  I     CAN'T     PRAY. 

attend  to  their  salvation,  I  hoped  their  error  might 
be  corrected.  And  as  I  had  discovered  a  greater 
susceptibility,  as  I  thought,  in  the  younger  sister,  I 
determined  to  commence  with  her. 

Consequently,  I  soon  afterwards  called  upon  her, 
and  asked  to  see  her  alone.  She  met  me  very 
affectionately.  But  I  had  scarcely  uttered  a  single 
sentence  in  respect  to  her  duty,  before  she  asked 
suddenly,  and  with  much  animation, — 

"  Shall  I  call  my  sister  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  I,  "  I  wish  to  see  you  alone.  You 
may  say  some  things  which  I  should  not  wish  your 
sister  to  hear." 

This  reply  appeared  to  give  her  some  little  con- 
fusion, mingled  with  sadness ;  but  she  made  no  ob- 
jections to  my  proposal,  and  soon  recovered  her 
composure.  I  urged  her  to  her  religious  duty,  as 
faithfally  and  affectionately  as  I  could.  She  listened 
to  me  apparently  with  candor  and  with  some  emo- 
tion, as  in  the  language  of  Scripture  I  enjoined  upon 
her  repentance,  and  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
for  justification  unto  life  eternal.  But  the  old  hin- 
drance was  still  in  her  way.  The  following  is  a 
part  of  our  conversation : 

"I  suppose  you  are  convinced  of  the  necessity  of 
religion  ?" 

"  OA,  2/es,  sir!  I  know  its  necessity,  but  I  do  not 
feel  it,— I  cannot  feel  it," 


I     CAN'T     PRAY.  159 

"Do  you  feel,  that  you  are  a  sinner, — without 
Christ,  an  undone  sinner,  and  have  a  wicked  heart 
opposed  to  God  ?" 

"  I  know  I  am  ;  but  I  don't  feel  it  as  much  as  I 
ought  to." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  saying,  '  as  much  as  you 
ought  to?'" 

"  I  mean,  not  enough  to  be  able  to  seek  the  Lord, 
or  repent." 

*'  Are  you  really  giving  any  definite  attention  to 
your  duty  towards  God,  to  your  salvation  ?" 

"  At  times,  I  have  thought  about  it  a  great  deal." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  seek  the  Lord  now^  in  obe- 
dience to  His  word,  and  as  well  as  you  know 
how?" 

"  I  have  felt  for  a  long  time,  that  I  should  like  to 
be  a  Christian ;  but  it  is  rather  the  conviction  of  my 
head  than  the  feeling  of  my  heart.  My  reason 
teaches  me  it  is  wise  to  make  my  peace  with  God  ; 
but  I  suppose  such  has  not  been  the  desire  of  my 
heart.  My  attention  has  been  called  to  the  subject 
very  seriously,  and  I  have  felt  it  deeply  at  times ; 
but  the  Spirit  has  forsaken  me,  and  I  have  gone 
farther  off  than  ever.  Once  I  could  have  given  ray 
heart  to  God  a  great  deal  easier  than  I  could  now," 
said  she,  with  deep  sadness. 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  I,  "that  is  true,  entirely 
true.     It  has  become  more  difhcult  for  you,  and  will 


160  I   oan't   pray. 

be  tlie  more  difficult  still,  the  longer  you  delay. 
You  ought  to  seek  the  Lord  nowP 

"K  I  could  seek  Him,  sir,  with  an  acceptable 
heart,  I  would  not  neglect  it." 

"  And  so,  becoming  worse  and  worse,  going  far- 
ther and  farther  off,  yon  let  your  life  run  on, 
living  without  God  and  without  hope,  making 
no  attempt  to  gain  eternal  life.  My  dear  girl, 
this  is  all  Avrong.  Salvation  is  to  be  sought, — 
if  there  is  an  item  of  truth  in  the  Bible,  it  is 
to  be  sought.  You  may  obtain  it,  if  you  will. 
Salvation  is  offered  to  you, — it  is  free, — ^it  is  fully 
within  your  reack;  the  gospel  calls  to  you.  If  you 
will  seek  God  with  all  your  heart,  I  know  you  will 
not  seek  in  vain.  God  has  said  this  to  you  to  in- 
duce you  to  seek  Him  :  '  Hear,  and  your  soul  shall 
live.  I  will  make  an  everlasting  covenant  with 
you.  Let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way,  and  the 
unrighteous  man  his  thoughts,' — (you  think  wrong, 
remember,) — '  and  let  him  return  unto  the  Lord, 
and  He  will  have  mercy  upon  him,  and  to  our  God, 
for  He  will  abundantly  pardon.'  And  all  this,  God 
says  to  you^  and  says  it  just  in  connection  with  his 
command,. '  Seek  ye  the  Lord,  call  ye  upon  Him.' 
You  must  seek  Him.  You  must  turn  to  Him  with 
repentance  and  prayer.  He  gives  you  the  fullest 
encouragement  to  do  so.  Let  liis  word  sink  deep 
into  your  heart,  my  dear  girl :  '  Then  shall  ye  go 


I   can't    pray.  161 

and  pray  unto  me,  and  I  will  hearken  nnto  you ; 
and  ye  shall  seek  me,  and  ye  shall  find  me,  when 
ye  shall  search  for  me  with  all  your  heart,  and  I 
will  be  found  of  you.'  That  is  the  way  which  the 
God  of  all  love  calls  on  you  to  take  in  order  to  be 
saved ;  and  you  do  not  obey  Him ;  you  are  not 
trying  to  obey  Him  1" 

"Why,  sir,  I  have  been  taught,  that  J  must  siib' 
mit  to  God  first,  or  He  will  not  hear  any  prayer  I 
could  make.     I  have  heard  my  minister  say  so." 

"  I  am  not  teaching  you,  7ioi  to  submit  to  God  (as 
you  call  it).  He  commands  you  to  seek  Him,  and 
tells  you  how  to  do  it,  and  I  want  you  to  '  submit' 
to  His  command." 

"I  think,"  said  she,  "that  praying  before  sub- 
mitting to  God,  would  only  be  hypocrisy." 

"  Then  you  should  do  both.  He  certainly  com- 
mands you  to  prayy 

"  Not  with  such  a  heart  as  /  have  got,"  said  she, 
emphatically,  and  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"  Yes,  He  does,^''  said  I.  "  Here  is  His  command 
in  the  Bible, — it  is  addressed  to  you, — to  every  sinner 
on  earth, — '  Call  ye  upon  Him  while  He  is  near.' 
He  does,  indeed,  command  you  also  to  repent ;  but  if 
you  choose  not  to  repent,  that  sin  does  not  alter  His 
command  to  you  to  pray.  His  command  lies  on  just 
such  a  heart  as  you  have  this  moment.  Your  im- 
penitence and  unbelief  are  no  excuse  for  you." 


162  I   can't   pray. 

"  How  can  I  liave  any  power  to  pray  to  Him,  and 
seek  Him  rightly  ?" 

"  The  Bible  answers  your  question  :  '  to  as  many 
as  received  Him,  to  them  gave  He  power  to  become 
the  sons  of  God.'  The  Bible  offers  Christ  to  you^  a 
guilty  sinner.  You  are  to  receive  Him  as  your  own 
Saviour,  in  order  to  have  *  power'  to  become  a  child 
of  God.  You  are  to  '  deny  yourself,  and  take  up 
your  cross  and  follow  Christ.'  " 

"  But,"  said  she,  with  much  agitation,  "I  cannot 
ash  God  to  receive  me  as  His  child.  I  cannot  plead 
with  my  whole  heart  for  His  blessing,  as  I  would 
ask  my  earthly  father  for  a  gift  which  he  could 
bestow." 

"  Do  J OM  never  pray  ?" 

"  No,  I  never  prayed.  It  seems  to  me  it  would  be 
nothing  but  mockery  for  me  to  pray.     I  care  i  pray T 

"  You  cannot  be  saved  without  prayer.  If  you 
will  not  ask  God's  blessing,  you  cannot  have  it. 
'  Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive,'  is  God's  direction  and 
promise.  You  foolishly  invert  the  order,  and  thus 
'  handle  the  word  of  God  deceitfully,'  hoping  to  '  re- 
ceive' first^  and  then  '  ask.'  If  you  would  be  saved, 
my  dear  girl,  you  must  do  as  God  bids  you." 

"  But  I  cavii  ash  with  all  my  heart,  and  anything 
short  of  that  would  be  as  bad  as  sacrilege." 

"  You  are  wrong,  my  child, — all  wrong.  It  is 
true  you  ought  to  seek  the  Lord  with  all  your  heart, 


I   can't   pray.  168 

as  lie  requires ;  but  it  is  not  true,  that  your  prayiag 
is  worse  tlian  neglecting  prayer,  and  it  is  not  true^ 
that  you  have  any  ground  to  expect  His  blessing 
hefore  you  ask  it.  You  think  wrong.  '  Let  the 
wicked  forsake  his  thoughts.'  You  and  God  do 
not  think  alike.  Your  false  notions  hinder  you  from 
becoming  a  Christian.  God  commands  you  to  seek 
Him  by  prayer.  You  may  think  what  you  will 
about  '  mockery,'  still  He  tells  3^ou  to  pray,  in  order 
to  3^our  being  saved ;  and  while  you  do  720^  pray, 
you  do  not  take  the  way  which  His  mercy  points 
out  to  you." 

"  I  canH  pray^''^  says  she,  with  an  accent  of  vexa- 
tion and  despair. 

"  You  say  you  can't  pray,"  said  I.  "  God  thinks 
you  can.  Just  as  soon  as  He  has  said  to  you,  '  Seek 
ye  the  Lord,'  He  goes  on  to  tell  you  how  to  seek 
Him, — '  call  ye  upon  Him.'  He  thinks  you  can 
pray.  In  that  passage  He  tells  you  to  pray  even  he- 
fore  He  tells  you  to  repent.  '  Call  3^e  upon  Him' 
comes  first :  it  stands  before  the  command  to  repent, 
— '  let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way.'  God  knows 
that  if  you  do  not  praj^,  you  will  not  repent.  I  do 
not  say  that  ^^ou  ought  to  pray  with  an  impenitent 
heart,  but  I  say  you  ought  to  pray,  be  your  heart 
what  it  may.  And  what  an  awfidly  wicked  heart 
you  must  have,  if  you  cannot  even  pray." 

''Oh,  I  can't  j9ray,  I  have  such  a  heart!" 


164  I    can't   pray. 

"  You  refuse  to  pray,  because  you  liave  sucTi  an 
evil  heart.  That  evil  heart  is  the  very  reason  why 
you  have  need  to  pray  the  more  earnestly.  Your 
evil  heart,  instead  of  being  an  argument  against 
prayer,  is  the  strongest  of  all  possible  reasons  why 
you  should  pray.  You  infinitely  need  God's  help, 
and  you  should  ask  for  it." 

"  I  canH  pray !     It  would  be  hypocrisy  !" 

"  Perhaps  it  would ;  but  it  is  rebellion  to  neglect  it." 

"  Well,  hypocrisy  is  worse,  sir." 

"  I  do  not  know  that ;  in  such  a  case  as  this,"  said 
I,  "if  you  pray  with  such  a  heart  as  you  have  now, 
you  will  at  least  try  to  obey  God  in  the  form  ;  but 
if  you  do  not  pray  at  all,  you  are  a  rebel  both  in 
heart  and  outward  conduct.  Which  is  the  worst — 
to  try  and  come  short,  or  to  stand  here  before  God 
and  say  you  will  not  try  at  all  ?" 

With  vexation  of  spirit  she  replied,  ^^IcanH  pray; 
my  heart  is  all  wrong." 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  get  a  better  one  ?" 

"  I  know  God  must  give  me  a  new  heart,  if  I  ever 
have  it." 

"Do  you  want  Him  to  give  you  a  new  heart?" 

"  Oh  sir,  I  wish  he  ivould^^''  said  she,  weeping. 

"  Wh}^  then  don't  you  tell  Him  so,  in  earnest 
prayer  ?" 

"  I  canH  pray,  it  would  be  insincere." 

"  Are  you  insincere  to  we,  when  you  tell  me  with 


ican'tpray.  165 

SO  much  emotiou,  you  '  wish  God  would  give  you  a 
new  heart?'     Do  you  tell  me  what  is  not  true?" 

"  Oh^  no  sir  /"  said  she  earnestly,  "  I  hope  you 
don't  think  I  Avould  utter  a  falsehood  to  you?" 

"Not  at  all,  my  friend ;  but  if  you  spoke  the 
truth,  you  do  sincerely  wish  God  would  give  you  a 
new  heart.  Where  then  would  be  the  insincerity  of 
telling  Him  so ;  of  asking  Him  for  what  you  sincerely 
desire?" 

She  paused  a  long  time,  pondering  this  question, 
apparently  with  mingled  thoughtfulness  and  vexa- 
tion ;  at  length  she  replied, — 

"I  can't  pray,  I  have  not  the  right  motives." 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  get  the  right  motives?" 

"  I  never  shall  have,  if  God  does  not  put  them 
into  my  heart !" 

"  Do  you  want  Him  to  put  them  into  your  heart  ?" 

"Yes,  /cfo,  above  all  things,"  said  she,  earnestly. 

"  Why  then  don't  you  ask  Him  ?  If  you  are  sin- 
cere in  wanting  Him  to  do  so,  you  can  sincerely  ask 
Him  to  do  so." 

"  But  I  canH  pray,  sir ;  the  prayers  of  the  wicked 
are  an  abomination  to  the  Lord." 

"  So  you  say,"  said  I. 

"  Does  not  the  Bible  say  so,  sir?" 

"  No,  my  child,  nowhere." 

"  Why,  sir,  I  thought  it  did." 

"  It  does  not.     It  says,  '  the  sacrifice  of  the  wick- 


166  I     CAN'T     PRAY. 

ed  is  an  abomination  to  the  Lord,'  but  the  meaning 
of  tliat  is,  that  when  the  wicked  offer  sacrifice,  and 
at  the  same  time  do  not  intend  to  abandon  their 
wickedness,  it  is  an  abomination." 

''  Well,  sir,  the  Bible  requires  good  motives." 

"  Certainly  it  does ;  and  it  requires  you  to  pray 
to  God, '  create  in  me  a  clean  heart,  and  renew  a  right 
spirit  within  me.'  You  need  good  motives,  and  for 
that  very  reason  you  should  pray." 

"  But  I  canH  pray.  It  is  not  prayer,  such  as  the 
Bible  demands,  if  I  should  ask  God  for  another  heart." 

Said  I,  "  The  common  complaint  of  the  Bible 
against  sinners  is  not,  that  they  pray  with  bad  mo- 
tives ;  but  that  they  do  not  pray  at  all.  It  censures 
the  wicked,  because  they  '  cast  off  fear,  and  restrain 
prayer,'  as  you  do ;  while  it  makes  promises  to 
those  who  seek  God  by  prayer." 

"  I  never  prayed,"  said  she,  with  manifest  fear  and 
vexation  of  spirit.  "  /  canH  pray,  till  I  have  the 
right  feelings." 

"  You  must  pray,  my  dear  girl,  in  order  to  get  the 
right  feehngs.  So  the  Bible  teaches  you,  and  you 
pervert  it.  You  say  you  must  have  the  right  feel- 
ings first.  The  Bible  tells  you  to  praj^  for  them,  if 
you  would  ever  have  them.  In  Jeremiah,  xxix.  12, 
13,  God  says,  '  Then  shall  ye  call  upon  me,  and  ye 
shall  go  and  pra}^  unto  me,  and  I  will  hearken  unto 
you;  and  ye  shall  seek  me  and  find  me,  when  ye 


I     CAN'T     PRAY.  167 

shall  search  for  me  with  all  jovlt  heart,  and  I  will 
be  found  of  jou,  saith  the  Lord.'  The  praying,  the 
seeking,  is  first  The  finding  comes  afterwards. 
'  Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive,'  says  God.  '  Give  to 
me,  and  then  I  will  ask,'  is  your  answer." 

"  But,  sir,  I  certainly  have  no  heart  to  pray.  I 
m/z'^  pray !  God  would  frown  on  any  prayer  I 
could  offer." 

"  So  you  say,  but  He  has  not  said  so.  He  will 
frown  upon  your  refusing  to  pray.  It  seems  to  me 
perfectly  clear,  that  God  is  far  more  kind  to  you 
than  you  think  Him,  more  kind  than  you  arc  to 
yourself.  He  says  to  you,  in  your  weakness  and 
all  your  want,  '  In  me  is  thy  help.'  You  demand 
of  your  poor  heart  to  be  holy  first,  before  it  can  have 
any  encouragement  at  all,  even  to  pray  for  help. 
Your  cold  heart  does  him  an  injustice.  He  is  more 
kind  than  that.  He  encourages  you  to  come  to 
Him,  and  call  upon  Him,  with  just  such  a  needy  and 
imperfect  heart,  as  you  have  this  moment,  to  come 
to  Him  by  Christ  in  all  your  unworthiness  and  fear, 
and  tell  Him  your  wants,  and  beg  for  mercy  and 
Divine  assistance.  He  stands  ready  to  hear  you,  to 
forgive  and  love  you,  and  bestow  upon  you  that 
better  heart  you  long  for,  if  you  Avill  ask.  And  you 
abuse  His  kindness  by  your  unbelief  He  is  far 
better  than  you  think  Him.  He  invites  you  to 
come  to  Him  in  Christ  Jesus,  and  ask  Him  what 


1,68  I    can't   pray. 

you  will.  You  demand  of  your  poor  heart  more 
(in  one  sense,)  than  God  demands  of  it.  You  de- 
mand of  it  faith  and  holiness  aside  from  any  Divine 
help,  and  without  prayer  ;  while  he  offers  you  help, 
to  aid  you  to  holiness  and  faith.  I  do  not  under- 
stand him,  as  inviting  you  to  Christ,  only  after  you 
have  a  good  heart,  but  as  inviting  you  now^  just  as 
you  are." 

"  Oh !"  said  she,  quite  overcome  with  her  emo- 
tions, "  I  wish  I  had  a  right  to  come." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  girl  ?  You  talk 
inconsistently,  absurdly.  You  want  a  right  heart 
first^  and  then  you  Avill  consent  to  pray  for  a  right 
heart." 

"  I  know,  sir,  my  mind  is  wrong ;  but  it  does 
seem  to  me,  I  cannot  pray  with  such  a  heart." 

"  That  is  only  a  deceitful  excuse.  If  you  do  not 
hve  to  have  such  a  heart,  you  will  pray  God  to  give 
you  a  better  one." 

"  Oh,  I  am  such  a  sinner !  How  can  such  a 
creature  pray  ?" 

"  Others  just  like  you  have  prayed,  and  God  has 
answered  them.  You  can  do  the  same  thing,  if  you 
wHl." 

*'But  my  very  heart  is  too  wicked  I" 

"  You  do  not  more  than  half  believe  what  you 
say.  If  you  really  believed  you  had  such  a  wicked 
heart,  you  would  cry  for  mercy  with  all  your  might." 


I    can't   prat.  169 

"  I  wouldjprayj''  said  she,  ''  if  I  had  such  motives 
that  God  would  hear  me." 

"  That  is  the  very  essence  of  self-righteousnesa>" 
said  I.  "  You  expect  to  be  answered,  not  because 
you  shall  have  cried,  '  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner ;'  but  because  you  shall  have  gone  to  God 
with  such  good  motives,  with  a  heart  so  much  bet- 
ter, that  he  will  hear  and  ansAver  you  on  that 
account.  You  wish  to  be  able  to  stand  up  and  offer 
the  Pharisee's  prayer,  '  God,  I  thank  thee  that  I  am 
not  as  other  men  are.'  You  are  unwilling  to  be  the 
poor  publican,  and  smite  on  your  breast,  despairing 
of  your  wicked  heart,  and  cry,  '  God,  be  merciful  to 
me  a  sinner.'  You  won't  consent  to  be  a  beggar. 
Your  heart  is  too  full  of  pride  and  self-righteousness 
to  consent  to  let  you  be  an  infinite  debtor  to  Divine 
mercy,  as  an  undone  and  helpless  sinner." 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  she  with  amazement,  "  do  you 
think  I  am  self-righteous  ?" 

"  I  know  you  are.  You  have  shown  it  in  almost 
every  sentence  you  have  uttered  for  the  last  half 
hour.  You  justify  yourself  You  justify  your 
prayerlessness  even.  You  think  to  pray  with  such 
good  motives,  some  time  or  other,  as  to  meet  ac- 
ceptance. Kcjecting  Christ,  you  rely  on  the  good 
motives  you  hope  to  have,  as  the  ground  of  your  ac- 
ceptance.    And  that  is  all  self-righteousness." 

After  a  solemn  pause  she  asked, — 
8 


170  I    can't   pray, 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?     I  am  undone  I" 

"  Seek  tlie  Lord,"  said  I,  "  call  upon  Him  ;  fly  to 
Clirist,  as  you  are — remember,  as  you  are." 

"  Will  Hq  hear  mQr 

"  Yes ;  He  says  He  will.  '  Ask,  and  ye  sliall  re- 
ceive.' Believe  His  promise  of  tlie  '  Holy  Spirit  to 
them  that  ask  Him.'  You  have  no  need  to  be  hin- 
dered, my  dear  child,  for  an  hour.  Give  God  your 
heart  as  it  is.  Go  to  Him  as  you  are,  a  poor,  undone 
sinner,  and  beg  for  mercy.  And  believe  He  will  not 
cast  you  off.  God  loves  3^ou,  and  waits  to  save  you. 
He  offers  you  all  the  benefits  of  the  blood  of  atone- 
ment and  of  the  aids  of  the  Holy  Spirit — '  the  Holy 
Spirit  to  them  that  ash  Him^''  remember.  And  what 
more  can  your  wicked  heart  need  ?" 

She  seemed  to  be  melted  into  tenderness. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  girl,  will  you  pray  ?  Will 
you  begin  this  night  ?" 

"  I  ought  to,"  said  she  trembling. 

"Then,  t<;z7^  you?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  willj''  said  she  emphatically. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  I,  and  instantly  left  her. 

During  this  interview  she  became  greatly  troub- 
led. Evidently  she  was  tost  with  conflicting  emo- 
tions. She  began  to  perceive  that  her  excuse  of  a 
wicked  heart  would  not  answer  her  purpose  ;  and  at 
times  I  thought  her  affectionate  disposition  on  the 
very  point  of  yielding  to  the  kindness  of  God. 


I   can't   tray.  171 

I  now  had  some  liope  that  she  would  seek  the 
Lord-  She  had  promised  to  pray^  and  thus  had 
yielded  the  very  point  in  which  all  her  opposition 
practically  centered.  But  on  considering  the  whole 
matter  more  carefully  that  evening  at  home,  I  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  she  would  not  pray  as  she 
had  promised  ;  but  that  when  she  was  alone,  the 
influence  of  her  old  difficulty  would  return  upon 
her  and  overthrow  the  urgency  of  all  that  I  had 
said. 

Early  the  next  morning,  therefore,  I  called  upon 
her.     She  was  taken  by  surprise.     Said  I, — 

"  Did  you  pray  last  night,  my  dear  girl  ?" 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  was  silent.  (She 
told  me  some  days  afterwards,  "  I  felt  my  very  heart 
sick  within  me,  the  moment  you  asked  me  if  I  had 
prayed.")     I  repeated  the  question, — 

"  My  child,  did  you  keep  your  promise  ?  Did 
you  pray  last  night?" 

Her  whole  frame  was  agitated.  The  question 
seemed  to  pierce  her  heart. 

"  No  sir,  I  did  not !"  said  she  faintly,  and  covered 
her  face  in  her  handkerchief,  in  convulsive  agony. 

"  And  why  not?  Why  didn't  you  pray?  You 
make  my  very  heart  sorry,  when  you  tell  me  you 
neglected  it  I" 

"  I  did  try,"  said  she  weeping ;  "I  did  try.  I 
kneeled  down,  but  I  could  not  open  my  hps  to  utter 


1V2  I     CAN'T     PRAY. 

one  word  !  Mj  heart  was  so  cold  and  wicked,  I  did 
not  dare  to  speak  one  word  to  my  heavenly  Father." 

"  Your  heart  is  far  more  wicked  than  you  think ; 
and  if  you  wait  to  make  it  better,  you  will  wait  for- 
ever! But  God  is  a  thousand-fold  more  merciful 
and  kind  than  you  think.  Give  yourself  to  Him. 
Just  trust  to  Christ,  bad  as  your  heart  is." 

"Oh,  sir,  it  is  hard  to  learn  to  trust!  I  have 
tried  to  trust  myself  in  Christ's  hands.  How  can  I 
trust?" 

"  Suppose,"  said  I,  "  you  were  here  on  this  island, 
and  you  knew  the  island  was  going  to  sink  under 
you,  and  you  must  get  off  or  sink  with  it,  and  you 
could  do  nothing  at  all  to  save  yourself,  and  then  a 
boat  should  come  to  save  you,  and  you  had  every 
reason  to  believe  it  would  hold  you  up  from  sinking 
and  take  you  off  safely,  and  land  you  where  you 
wanted  to  go, — would  it  be  '  hard  to  trust'  to  it  ? 
No,  no ;  you  would  instantly  go  on  board  and  stay 
on  it,  and  take  care  not  to  fall  off.  You  would  trust 
it  wilhngly,  fully,  joyfully.  Just  so  commit  your- 
self, a  helpless  sinner,  to  Christ,  and  not  sink  into 
perdition.  He  will  take  you,  and  land  you  safe  in 
heaven,  if  you  will  ask  Him  and  trust  Him." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  such  a  sense  of  my  sin, 
as  to  seek  God  earnestly y 

"  What,  thcD,  will  you  do?" 

"  I  don't  know,  unless  I  wait  for  it." 


I    can't   pray.  173 

"  And  will  you  get  it  b}^  waiting  ?" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  slie,  "  a  just  sense  of  sin  is  the 
gift  oftlie  Holy  Spirit." 

"  I  suppose  so,  too  ;  and  therefore  you  must  pray 
for  the  Holy  Spirit.  It  is  promised  as  a  gift  to  them 
that  ask.  You  are  not  to  wait  '  Behold,  now  is 
the  day  of  salvation.'    Give  your  bad  heart  to  God." 

I  left  her  more  solemn  and  docile  than  ever  be- 
fore.    Her  stout  heart  trembled. 

The  next  day  but  one,  I  called  upon  her.  She 
was  in  her  class.  I  sent  for  her  to  meet  me  in  a 
private  room.     I  asked  her, — 

"  Have  you  trusted  yourself  to  Christ  yet?" 

She  shook  her  head.     Her  eyes  filled  mth  tears. 

"  What  have  you  been  waiting  for  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  I  don't  know.  It  seems  as 
if  I  cannot  offer  myself  to  God  in  such  a  manner  that 
He  will  accept  me.  I  try  with  all  my  power.  But 
my  thoughts  wander  when  I  try  to  pray.  My  heart 
is  all  unbelief  and  sin !" 

"  You  must  pray  for  God's  help,  and  trust  Him  to 
help  you." 

"  Oh,  sir,  if  I  go  to  God  I  am  afraid  He  will  not 
accept  me.     There  never  was  such  a  sinner." 

'•'•  You  need  not  fear  an  item,  my  dear  friend.  He 
has  promised  to  accept  you.  Go  to  Him  by  faith  in 
his  Son  for  all  you  want.  His  very  throne  shall 
crumble,  sooner  than  you  shaU  be  cast  off." 


174 

I  left  her  in  tears,  apparently  in  a  subdued  and 
tender  agitation. 

Four  days  afterwards  I  saw  her  again.  She  met 
me  with  a  smile  of  gladness. 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  I  have  wanted 
to  see  you  very  much."  Grasping  my  hand,  she 
began  to  speak  to  me  of  her  feelings, — "  I  want  to 
tell  you  a  great  many  things  about  myself,"  but  her 
emotions  choked  her  utterance.     I  asked  her,' — 

"  Can  you  pray  now^  my  dear  girl  ?" 

"  Oh^  yes^  I  can  pray  now  with  my  whole  heart. 
But,  sir,  it  seems  to  me  I  do  not  come  fully  to 
Christ,  though  I  know  I  want  to." 

"  Do  you  still  love  sin  and  the  world  too  much  to 
give  them  up  for  Christ  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  think  not,"  said  she,  solemnly. 

"  There  may  be  some  darling  sin  you  do  not  re- 
nounce. Perhaps  you  love  the  world  too  well. 
Weigh  well  the  matter.  Count  the  cost.  '  Choose 
this  day  whom  you  will  serve.'  If  you  choose 
the  world,  it  will  cheat  you.  If  you  choose  the  God 
of  love.  He  will  save  you." 

"  I  do  want  to  be  a  Christian,"  said  she,  tenderly. 
''  I  pray  my  God  for  this  with  all  my  heart." 

"  And  what  has  made  you  so  much  more  earnest  ?" 

"  I  have  felt  so  ever  since  I  heard  your  sermons 
on  the  text,  '  Go  thy  way  for  this  time.'  I  was 
afraid  I  was  like  Felix,  to  tremble  and  yet  delay." 


I    can't    pray.  176 

"  Do  you  intend  to  dela}^  ?" 

"  No  sir,  indeed,  I  do  not  intend  to,"  said  slie,  the 
tears  gushing  from  her  eyes. 

The  next  morning  I  found  her  in  deep  solemnity. 
Her  weeping  eyes  told  of  her  agitated  heart.  I 
asked, — 

"  Are  you  willing  now  to  give  up  all  and  follow 
Christ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  she,  with  the  utmost  earnestness, 
/  do  not  thinh  there  is  any  other  desire  in  my  hearty  ex- 
cept that  I  may  be  a  Christian." 

'•'■  Do  you  now  love  God  ?" 

With  some  thoughtful  hesitation  she  replied, — - 

*''  I  am  afraid,  sir,  to  venture  an  answer  to  that 
question." 

"You  need  not  answer  it.  I  will  not  embarrass 
you.  But  see  to  it,  that  you  trust  all  to  the  sove- 
reign mercy  of  God,  offered  to  you  in  his  Son.  I  can 
say  no  more  than  I  have  said  already,  I  have  told 
you  all.  My  work  is  finished.  I  leave  you  with 
God.  See  to  it,  that  you  make  an  entire  commitment 
of  3' ourself,  for  time  and  eternity,  to  your  Lord  and 
Redeemer." 

On  the  evening  of  the  next  day  I  had  a  long  in- 
terview with  her.  It  was  deUghtful  to  hear  her  ex- 
pressions.   Among  other  things  she  said  to  me, — 

"  I  feel  that  I  am  now  at  peace.  I  trust  my  God. 
I  love  to  trust  Tlim.    The  Saviour  is  everything  to 


176  I    can't   pray. 

me.  I  know  He  will  fulfil  all  His  promises.  Oli, 
my  dear  friend,  I  have  liad  a  dreadful  struggle  !  but 
I  have  had  strength  given  me  to  persevere.  Now 
the  love  of  God  is  very  precious  to  my  soul.  I 
never  expected  this  happiness." 

"  Do  you  love  to  pray?" 

"  Oh  yes  ;  prayer  is  sweet  to  me  now.  I  can  tdl  all 
my  wants  to  my  heavenly  Father  J"* 

After  some  farther  conversation,  I  said  to  her, — 

"  You  seem  to  have  come  into  a  different  state  of 
mind  within  a  few  days.  You  do  not  talk  as  you 
did.  How  have  you  brought  yourself  to  this  ?  to 
feel  so  differently  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir!  it  is  nothing  that  /  have  done  !  I  just 
jprayed  to  God  with  all  my  heart  and  in  fullfaith^  and 
he  did  every  thing  for  me^ 

She  appeared  to  be  a  very  happy  Christian.  Her 
joy  was  full.     Her  life  was  prayer. 

The  elder  sister,  who  so  much  resembled  the 
younger  in  her  difficulty  about  prayer,  I  visited 
generally  at  the  same  times  and  as  often  as  the 
younger.  I  had  almost  precisely  the  same  things 
to  say  to  her ;  and  a  few  days  afterwards  she  also 
entertained  "just  a  little  hope,"  as  she  expressed  it. 

These  sisters  were  deeply  interested  for  each  other. 
Each  would  say  to  me  frequently,  *'  I  want  yon  to 
see  my  sister."  Their  anxiety  for  one  another  was 
beneficial  to  them,  and  their  thoughts  of  their  ab- 


I     can't     PRAY.  177 

sent  mother,  whom  they  often  mentioned,  appeared 
to  me  to  constrain  them  to  more  earnest  endeavors 
to  lay  hold  on  eternal  life.  They  both  have  hope 
in  Christ,  and  I  trust  will  both  have  heaven.  I  first 
saw  them  in  the  month  of  May,  and  on  the  seventh 
day  of  the  following  September,  having  returned  to 
their  distant  home,  their  native  place,  they  both 
came  for  the  first  time  to  the  table  of  the  Lord,  hap- 
py Christians  in  the  dew  of  their  youth. 

I  have  given  this  sketch,  in  this  extended  form, 
as  illustrating  the  propriety  of  continued  solicitation 
at  the  door  of  a  sinner's  heart.  Here  were  two 
young  ladies  without  any  special  seriousness,  world- 
ly, presenting  no  hopeful  appearance,  but  presenting 
a  cold  discouragement,  calculated  to  damp  every 
hope,  and  stop  every  effort  to  do  them  good,  and 
coming  out  so  sadly  in  the  words,  "  I  never  prayed 
in  my  life." 

But  one  conversation  was  followed  up  by  another ; 
they  were  scarcely  left  a  day  to  themselves,  and  the 
influences  of  the  world,  their  strange  hindrance  of 
speculative  error  was  assailed  in  every  form,  and 
overthrown  again  and  again  by  declarations  of 
Scripture  and  arguments  of  reason ; — and  their 
whole  history  shows,  that  vigorous  and  persevering 
attempts  to  convert  sinners,  have  as  much  prospect 
of  srccess,  as  any  well-directed  attempts  in  any 
8* 


'^im 


1*78  I   can't   pray, 


ordinary  matter.  Not  tliat  man  can  reach  sinners' 
liearts,  but  that  God  may  be  expected  to  reach 
them,  when  minister  or  any  other  man  shall  dili- 
gently knock  at  their  door,  with  the  voice  of  God's 
urgent  and  affectionate  truth. 

The  reluctance  of  these  young  women  to  pray  may 
have  been  fostered,  (I  suppose  it  was,)  by  the  fogs 
of  a  metaphysical  theology,  in  Avhich  they  had  been 
educated,  and  which  they  probably  misunderstood. 
But  it  originated  in  a  consciousness  of  a  home-bred 
depravity.  "  I  can't  ask  God  to  make  me  his  child," 
said  one  of  them  ;  "I  know  my  heart  does  not  want 
it."  But  there  was  a  propriety  in  urging  them  to 
prayer,  because  God  commands  men  to  pray,  and 
because  I  expected  they  would  be  rendered  more 
sensible  of  their  opposition  to  God,  and  their  need 
of  his  aid,  when  they  should  attempt  its  perform- 
ance. And  so  it  turned  out.  Their  conviction, 
which  had  been  superficial  and  speculative  only, 
became  more  deep,  more  practical.  While  super- 
ficial and  speculative,  their  depravity  was  an  excuse 
to  them.  When  rendered  deep  and  thorough  by  a 
sincere  attempt  to  pray,  it  became  experimental,  it 
was  no  longer  an  excuse,  but  only  made  them  cry 
for  mercy  with  all  their  might:  "  I  prayed  to  God 
in  full  faith,  and  with  all  my  heart,  and  He  did 
everything  for  me."  A  just  conviction  of  sin  makes 
no  excuse ;  but  it  will  pray. 


I     can't     PRAY.  1*79 

I  miglit  have  avoided  this  girl's  excuse  by  urging 
her  to  repentance  and  faith :  I  chose  to  meet  it  by 
urging  her  to  prayer.  It  was  her  inabiHty  to  pray 
in  any  manner  to  meet  her  own  approval,  which 
had  contributed  more  than  anything  else  to  con- 
vince her  of  her  deep-seated  depravity,  and  aliena- 
tion from  God  ;  and  I  did  not  wish  to  diminish  this 
conviction,  by  leading  her  thoughts  from  the  thing 
that  caused  it.  It  would  have  been  dangerous  to 
turn  her  thoughts  into  a  new  channel.  I  aimed  to 
conspire  with  the  Holy  Spirit.  It  was  important 
that  she  should  realize  the  necessity  of  the  direct 
help  of  the  Divine  Spirit  personally^  practically^  and 
therefore  more  deeply,  than  by  her  speculation  she 
ever  could ;  and  she  was  more  likely  to  have  such  s, 
realization  through  endeavors  to  pray  rightly,  than 
by  any  other  means.  In  her  speculation  she  thought 
she  knew  full  well  her  wickedness  and  helplessness ; 
but  these  were  the  very  things  she  did  not  know. 
She  found  them  out  just  when  she  endeavored  to 
pray.  Then,  a  full  sense  of  her  undone  and  help- 
less condition  burst  upon  her.  She  could  do  no- 
thing but  cry  :  "  I  just  prayed  to  God  Avith  all  my 
heart,  and  in  full  faith."  And  then,  as  she  ex- 
pressed it,  "  He  did  everything  for  me."  "  Go  thou, 
and  do  likewise." 


I  Cint't  gtd. 

From  early  spring  clown  to  the  antnmn  of  the 
year,  a  very  sedate  and  contemplative  man  liad 
been  accustomed  to  call  upon  me,  in  respect  to  his 
religious  thoughts  and  anxieties.  At  first  he 
seemed  to  have  ilioughis  only,  but  they  ripened  by 
degrees  into  anxieties.  He  began  by  asking  about 
theories,  or  doctrines,  apparently  without  any  idea 
of  making  an  application  of  the  truth  to  himself. 
He  had  points  of  difficulty  which  he  wished  to  have 
explained,  and  then  he  found  other  points;  and 
these  gradually  changed  in  character  from  abstract 
questions  to  those  of  the  application  of  the  truth. 
From  the  first,  I  tried  to  lead  him  on  to  the  per- 
sonal application ;  but  months  passed  away  before 
he  appeared  to  have  much  sense  of  his  sin,  or  much 
anxiety  about  himself. 

But  he  came  to  this  ;  and  after  quite  a  struggle  of 
mind,  as  it  appeared  to  me  to  lead  himself  to  believe 
in  salvation  by  personal  merit,  he  gave  that  up  ;  he 
said  to  me,  "I  have  become  convinced  that  sinners 
are  saved,  not  by  their  own  goodness,  but  because 


I    can't   feel.  181 

tliey  are  pardoned  on  account  of  Jesus  Christ.  Faitli 
in  Him  is  the  only  way  for  them." 

After  this,  I  had  conversed  with  him  several  times, 
when  he  appeared  to  me  to  be  not  far  from  the  king- 
dom of  God ;  but  I  was  as  often  disappointed,  for  he 
would  come  back  to  me  again  in  as  much  trouble 
and  unbelief  as  before.  Again  and  again  I  had  an- 
swered all  his  inquiries,  teaching  him  out  of  the 
Scriptures ;  had  brought  up  to  his  mind  all  the  doc- 
trines of  truth,  the  divine  promises  and  directions, 
sin  and  salvation  ;  but  all  in  vain.  He  had  become 
very  solemn,  and  seemed  to  be  entirely  candid  and 
really  in  earnest.  His  Bible  had  become  his  con- 
stant study ;  he  was  a  man  of  prayer  ;  he  attended 
upon  all  our  religious  services  with  manifest  interest ; 
he  appeared  to  have  a  deep  sense  of  his  sin  and  dan- 
ger.    But  he  had  no  hope  in  Christ. 

I  finally  said  to  him  one  evening, — 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  dear  sir,  what  more  can  be 
said  to  you.  I  have  told  you  all  that  I  know.  Your 
state  as  a  sinner  lost,  exposed  to  the  righteous  pen- 
alty of  God's  Law,  and  having  a  heart  alienated 
from  God ;  and  the  free  offei"  of  redemption  by 
Christ ;  and  your  instant  duty  to  repent  of  sin  and 
give  up  the  world  and  give  God  your  heart ;  and 
the  source  of  your  help  through  the  power  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  assured  to  you,  if  you  will  '  receive' 
Christ :  all  these  things  have  become  as  familiar  to 


182  I    can't   feel. 

you  as  houseliold  words.  What  more  can  I  say  ? 
I  know  not  wliat  more  tliere  is  to  he  said.  I  cannot 
read  your  heart.  God  can,  and  you  can  by  His  aid. 
Some  tilings  you  have  said  ahnost  made  me  think 
you  a  Christian,  and  others  again  have  destroyed  that 
hope.  I  now  put  it  to  your  own  heart — ^if  you  are 
not  a  Christian,  what  hinders  you  ?" 

He  thought  a  moment, — said  he, — 

"Ican't/ee/./" 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  befo-''?^  ?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  before,  sir." 

"How  do  you  hnow  this  hinders  you?" 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  else.  But  I  am  sure  I 
shall  never  be  converted  to  God,  if  I  have  no  more 
feeling  than  I  have  now.  But  that  is  my  own  fault. 
I  know  you  cannot  help  me." 

"ISTo  sir,  I  cannot;  nor  can  you  help  yourself. 
Your  heart  will  not  feel  at  your  bidding." 

"What  then  can  I  do?"  said  he,  with  much 
anxiety. 

"Come  to  Christ,  now.  Trust  Him.  Give  up 
your  darling  world.  '  Repent :  so  iniquity  shall  not 
be  your  ruin.' " 

He  seemed  perplexed — annoyed^ — vexed  ;  and 
with  an  accent  of  impatience,  such  as  I  had  never 
witnessed  in  him  before,  he  replied, — 

"  That  is  impossible.  I  want  the  feeling,  to  bring 
me  to  that ;  and  I  canH  feel !" 


I     CANT     FEEL.  188 

"Hear  inc,  sir,"  said  I,  and  heed  well  what  I  say. 
I  have  several  points  : 

"  1.  The  Bible  never  tells  you  that  you  mustyeeZ, 
but  that  you  must  repent  and  believe. 

"2.  Your  complaint  that  you '  cavbifeel^  is  just  an 
eoccuse^  by  which  your  wicked  heart  would  j  ustify  you 
for  not  comino;  to  Christ  now. 

"  3.  This  complaint  tliat  you  '  canH  feelj  is  the 
complaint  of  a  self-righteous  spirit.^''  (He  started — 
rose  upon  his  feet,  and  stood  as  in  amazement.) 

"How  is  it?"  said  he. 

"  Because  you  look  to  the  desired  feeling  to  com- 
mend  you  to  God,  or  to  make  you  fit  to  come,  or  to 
enable  you  to  come." 

"Yes,  to  enable  me,"  said  he. 

"  "Well,  thatis  self-righteousness,  in  the  shape  of  self- 
justification  for  not  coming,  or  the  shape  of  self-re- 
liance, if  you  attempt  to  come.  That  is  all  legalism, 
and  not  the  acceptance  of  a  gracious  Christianity. 
You  cannot  be  saved  by  Law. 

"  4.  Your  complaint  is  the  language  of  the  most 
profound  ignorance.  To  feel  would  do  you  no  good. 
Devils  feel.     Lost  spirits  feel. 

"6.  Your  complaint  that  you  '  canHfeel,^  tends  to 
lead  you  to  a  false  religion — a  religion  of  mere  self- 
righteous  feeling.     Keligion  is  duty." 

"  But,  sir,"  said  he,   "  there  is  feeling  in  religion." 

"  But,  sir,"  said  I,  "  there  is  duty  in  religion  ;  and 


184  I   can't   feel. 

wMcli  shall  come  first  ?  You  ought  to  feel :  you 
ouglit  to  love  God ;  and  grieve  that  you  are  such  a 
senseless  sinner." 

"  I  know  I  am  a  sinner ;  but  I  can't  feel  any  con- 
fidence to  turn  to  God,  to  draw  me  to  Him." 

"You  are  like  the  prodigal  in  the  fifteenth  of  Luke, 
when  he  thought  of  saying ito  his  father,  '  make  me 
as  one  of  thy  hired  servants.'  Poor  fool !  Say  that^ 
to  his  father  ?  Why,  the  very  idea  is  a  libel  on 
his  father's  heart !  But  he  did'nt  think  so.  Poor 
fool !  he  knew  no  better.  And  you  are  a  greater 
fool  than  he.  He  went  home.  And  where  he  met 
his  father,  he  found  his  heart.  He  could  "^e^," 
when  he  found  his  father's  arms  around  him,  and 
felt  the  strong  beatings  of  his  father's  heart.  Do  as 
he  did.  Go  home  and  you  will  feel,  if  you  never 
felt  before.  You  will  starve  where  you  are  ;  your 
*  husks  '  will  not  save  you." 

As  I  was  uttering  this  he  hung  his  head,  cast  his 
eyes  upon  the  floor,  and  stood  like  a  statue  of  stone. 
I  let  him  think.  There  he  stood  for  some  long 
minutes.  Then  turning  suddenly  to  me,  reaching 
to  me  his  hand,  says  he, — ■ 

"  I  am  very  much  obhged  to  you  ;  good  night." 

I  let  him  go. 

About  a  month  afterwards  I  met  him  riding  alone 
in  his  wagon,  and  he  insisted  upon  my  taking  a  seat 
with  him,  for  he  had  "  something  to  say"  to  me,  and 


I    can't    feel  185 

lie  would  "  drive  wherever  I  wanted  to  go."  I  was 
no  sooner  seated  in  the  wagon  than  he  said  to  me, — 

"  The  human  heart  is  the  greatest  mystery  in  the 
world ;  inexplicable,  contradictory  to  itself ;  it  is 
absurd.  Man  is  a  riddle.  Who  would  imagine  that 
when  a  sinner  really  wishes  to  feel  his  sins  more, 
and  wishes  to  have  the  love  of  Christ  in  his  heart, 
it  is  because  he  is  not  willing  to  give  up  the  world. 
He  says,  (as  I  said  to  you  that  last  night,)  "  I  canH 
feel,"  as  an  excuse  for  holding  on  to  it.  I  found  as 
soon  as  I  was  willing  to  "go  home,"  as  you  called 
it,  the  road  was  plain  enough." 

"  Were  you  hindered  long  with  that  want  of  feel- 
ing?" 

"  No ;  I  never  thought  of  it  till  that  night.  It 
came  upon  me  like  a  flash ;  and  then,  just  as  I  was 
thinking  it  was  a  good  reason  in  my  favor,  you 
dashed  it  all  into  shivers." 

"  And  can  you  ' feel '  now?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  have  no  trouble  about  that.  I  find, 
if  a  poor  creature  will  turn  to  God,  in  the  name  of 
Jesus,  he  will  learn  io  feel  as  he  never  felt  before. 

Sinners,  not  willing  to  give  up  the  world,  and 
wanting  an  excuse  for  their  irrehgion,  exclaim,  "/ 

canH  feeir 


Milliiiij  t0  h  fast. 

I  RECEIVED  a  letter  from  an  individual  in  a  neigh- 
boring State,  an  entire  stranger  to  me.  Omitting 
some  names  and  dates,  I  liere  give  some  liberal  ex- 
tracts from  it.  It  appears  to  me,  that  tlie  religious 
experience  wliicli  tlie  letter  describes,  is  one  of  the 
best  possible  refutations  of  the  strange  theological 
opinion  to  which  it  refers  ;  and,  perhaps,  desponding 
affections  in  other  people  may  receive  some  solace 
by  knowing  something  of  the  experience  of  my 
correspondent,  as  recorded  in  the  Letter. 

•H-  *  *  -Jf  *  * 

''SlE, 

"  I  am  troubled  and  perplexed,  in  reference  to 
my  spiritual  state.  Will  you  allow  me  to  throw  off 
all  restraint,  forgetting  for  the  time  that  I  am  a 
stranger  ?  With  a  grateful  heart  I  tell  you  my  dear 
parents  were  very  godly  persons,  and  we,  their 
children,  were  educated  most  religiously.  My  blessed 
father,  now  gone  to  heaven,  was  a  great  admirer  of 
Dr.  Hopkins  and  Dr.  Emmons.  The  great  doctrines 
they  inculcated  were  among  the  first  lessons  I  learn- 


WILLING     TO     BE     LOST.  18*7 

ed  on  religious  subjects ;  but  truly,  sir,  I  could  not 
compreliend  them,  and  the  views  they  gave  me  of 
God,  were  truly  undesirable.  As  I  knew  nothing 
about  the  filial  love  Avhich  glowed  in  the  breast  of 
my  father,  the  ideas  I  entertained  of  my  Creator 
filled  me  with  dread,  and  I  grew  up  afraid  of  this 
holy  sovereign.  After  my  marriage,  I  attended 
upon  the  ministry  of  one  who  called  himself  a  IIop- 
kinsian  ;  but  surely  Dr.  Hopkins  would  never  have 
acknowledged  him  as  a  disciple.  He  used  to  tell 
me  I  must  be  willing  to  '  be  led  into  sin,  if  the  glory 
of  God  required  it;'  that  I  must  'go  down  to  the 
potter's  house/  and  there  become  willing  to  see  God 
fcyrm  me  into  a  'vessel  of  wrath,'  if  he  saw  it  most 
for  His  glory  to  do  so.  Well,  as  such  doctrines  were 
furnished  me  as  '  the  sincere  milk  of  the  Word,'  I 
need  not  tell  you  I  could  not  '  grow  thereby.' 

"  In  the  year  18 — ,  I  indulged  a  faint  hope  that 
my  heart  was  renewed ;  but  so  weak  was  my  faith, 
that  my  days  were  divided  between  hope  and  fear. 
I  really  loved  the  society  of  devout,  heavenly- 
minded  Christians.  I  saw  myself  a  vile  sinner, 
despaired  of  making  myself  any  better,  and  was 
brought  to  see  that  all  I  could  do  was  to  give  my 
whole  self  to  Jesus  in  all  my  sinfulness.  This  I  did 
over  and  over  again ;  but  to  you  I  confess,  I  never, 
never  felt  willing  to  go  to  perdition,  though  I  saw 
God  would  be  just  in  sending  me  there.     But,  oh 


188  WILLING    TO     BE     LOST. 

sir,  I  shrunk  from  justice,  and  cried  for  mercy, 
mercy.  Well,  from  that  time  to  the  present,  (more 
than  twenty  years,)  I  have  known  nothing  like  the 
*  assurance  of  hope.'  Though  I  am  as  certain  that 
I  love  the  prosperity  of  the  Redeemer's  kingdom,  as 
I  am  of  my  own  existence ;  yet  fear  so  predomi- 
nates in  my  heart,  that  I  am  at  times  ready  to  give 
up  all  hope  of  my  adoption.  Let  me  give  you  a 
single  instance  out  of  a  thousand.  If  seated  in  the 
house  of  God,  listening  with  delight  and  rapt  atten- 
tion to  the  preached  word,  joining  with  all  my 
heart  in  the  prayers  and  praises  of  that  sacred  place, 
and  feeling  in  my  very  soul  that  to  go — 

'  Wliere  congregations  ne'er  break  up 
And  Sabbaths  never  end,' 

is  the  heaven  I  desire  ;  if  my  car  catches  the  sound 
of  distant  thunder^  all  is  over  with  me, — my  mind  is 
filled  wdth  painful  forebodings,  and  lines  like  the 
following  are  darted  through  it : — 

'  Quite  weary  is  my  patience  grown, 
And  bids  my  fury  go, 
Swift  as  the  lightning  it  shall  pass, 
And  be  as  fatal  too.' 

Trembling,  sick,  unable  to  sit  up, — vomiting  gene- 
rally follows.  Now  the  dreadful  question  comes,  is 
not  'my  house  founded  on  the  sand?'  It  is  not 
dying  that  I  fear  so  much,  but  the  thought  of  dying 


WILLING     TO     BE     LOST.  189 

unprepared.  I  feel  no  heart-rising  against  God,  His 
love,  or  His  government,  but  heart-siiihing  fear. 

"Now  do  we  not  read,  'great  peace  liave  tliey 
who  love  thy  Law, — perfect  love  caste th  out  fear, — 
the  Lord  will  keep  him  in  perfect  peace  whose 
mind  is  stayed  on  Him?'  Here  now  is  my  trouble. 
Afraid  of  a  holy,  righteous  God ;  sensible  I  deserve 
His  anger,  I  sink  beneath  the /ear  of  it.  The  other 
day  I  was  meditating  on  my  strange  state  of  mind, 
and  I  thought  I  would  go  again,  as  the  Hymn 
says : — 

I'll  go  to  Jesus,  though  my  sins 

Have  like  a  mountain  rose ; 
I  know  his  courts,  I'll  enter  in, 

Whatever  may  oppose.' 

When  I  came  to  the  verse, — 

'  Perhaps,  he  will  admit  my  plea. 
Perhaps,  will  hear  my  prayer  ;' 

the  word,  perhaps^  troubled  me.  I  consulted  a  book, 
in  which  the  author  has  explained  that  perhaps. 
He  says,  '  there  is  no  perhaps  in  the  matter.  God 
says  there  is  none.  "  Hear,  and  your  soul  shall  live." 
He  says,  '  the  Hymn  is  right ;  because  it  represents 
what  a  sinner  feels  when  he  is  resolving  to  go  to 
Christ.  But  let  him  fling  his  "^er/iops"  to  the  winds ; 
the  sceptre  of  Immanuel  shall  be  shivered  into 
pieces,  the  throne  of  the  Redeemer  Jehovah  shall 


190  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST. 

sink,  sooner  than  sucli  a  sinner  perish.'  This  was 
enough  for  my  poor  heart.  All  I  could  do  was  to 
weep,  and  read,  and  weep  again.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  if  I  had  ten  thousand  souls  to  save,  and  each  as 
sinfal  as  I  felt  mine  to  be,  I  would  lay  them  all  into 
the  arms  of  Jesus,  and  not  doubt  about  their  accept- 
ance. I  thought  I  could  never  feel  depressed  again 
with  fear.  Those  blessed  words  were  so  precious, 
my  heart  rested  on  the  ability  and  willingness  of 
Jesus  to  save  me. 

"  But  alas !  sir,  we  have  been  visited  with  a  tem- 
pest since  that  time,  and  again  my  poor  house  has 
fallen !  Oh !  tell  me,  if  I  cannot  bear  a  little  stormy 
how  am  I  to  view  the  terrors  of  the  last  great  day  ? 
In  all  the  simplicity  of  a  child  I  ask  you,  dear  sir, 
what  I  shall  do  ?  I  cannot  go  to  the  world  of  des- 
pair. But  if,  after  all,  I  must  receive  the  merited 
reward  of  my  sins,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  wicked  men  in  that  dreadful  place,  nor  can  I 
ever  blaspheme  the  name  of  Jehovah  Jesus." 
-X-  *  *  *  * 

"  The  lines  have  fallen  unto  me  in  pleasant 
places  ;  I  have  a  goodly  heritage.  God  has  given 
me  a  good,  kind,  faithfal  shepherd,  whose  ministra- 
tions I  have  enjoyed  seven  years.  He  is  an  excel- 
lent man.  We  all  love  him  much.  But  for  some 
reason  he  will  not  let  me  tell  him  of  my  fears,  or,  at 
least,  he  is  pleased  to  treat  them  so  lightly,  that  I 


WILLING     TO     BE     LOST.  191 

do  not  often  say  mucli  to  liini  on  tlie  subject.  He 
is  a  man  of  great  energy,  was  never  afraid  of  an}^- 
tliing,  and  appears  ever  prepared  for  death,  however 
sudden  it  may  come.  But  his  views  on  some  point3 
are  very  different  from  Dr.  Emmons." 

*  *  *  *  -x- 

■X        -St       * 

Such  was  the  letter.  I  thought  it  furnished  mel- 
ancholy proof  of  the  unnecessary  perplexity  and 
torment  of  spirit,  which  false  theological  principles 
will  sometimes  produce.  This  person  was  evidently 
annoyed,  plagued,  tormented  for  ^^ears,  by  the  in- 
fluence of  an  extravagant  doctrine.  The  same  has 
happened  to  others.  An  eminent  clergyman,  to 
whom  I  read  that  letter  in  my  study,  said  to  me, 
"  Change  the  names  and  the  dates,  and  that  case  is 
precisely  my  own." 

The  minister,  who  taught  the  doctrine,  and  in- 
sisted upon  it  with  so  much  plainness  and  strength, 
probably  went  far  beyond  any  tiling  which  Hopkins 
or  Emmons  would  have  said,  though  he  deemed 
himself  one  of  their  disciples  in  theology.  This  is 
common  to  all  followers  of  men :  the  scholar  becomes 
worse  than  the  master. 

It  is  often  dif&cult  indeed  to  know  how  to  deal 
with  the  troubles  of  mind  which  result  from  strange 
doctrines.  The  doctrine  loill  come  up  before  the 
heart  which  it  has  once  tormented,  and  will  stand 


192  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST. 

as  a  wall  of  adamant,  to  keep  from  tlie  lieart  tliat 
liope  which  otherwise  the  gospel  would  infuse  into 
it.  Or,  if  the  strange  doctrine  is  of  an  opposite 
character,  and  has  led  to  a  false  hope,  it  will  be 
very  apt  to  come  back  again  to  do  its  old  mischief, 
after  the  delusive  hope  has  once  been  dissipated  by 
the  truth.  And  in  the  case  of  sach  doctrines  and 
despondencies  as  this  letter  mentions  ;  it  is  not  easy 
for  us  to  determine  whether  we  shall  reason  or  ridi- 
cule. A  woman,  who  for  a  long  time  had  been 
serious,  perplexed  and  distressed,  but  who  never 
had  attained  any  hope  in  Christ,  once  went  to  her 

minister,  the  Eev.  Dr.  S ,  of  H ,  and  told 

him,  that  she  now  believed  she  had  become  a 
Christian. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  Madam  ?" 
"Because,"  said  she,  "I  am  now  willing  to  be 
damned.  I  have  tried  a  long  time  to  come  to  such 
a  state  of  mind,  and  never  have  succeeded;  but 
now,  I  am  wilUng  to  be  damned,  if  God  pleases  to 
cast  me  off." 

"  Well;  Madam,"  said  the  Doctor  coolty, "  if  you  are 
willing  to  be  damned,  and  Ood  is  willing  you  should 
be,  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  have  any  objections." 
Probably  this  ridicule  was  quite  as  effective  to  cor- 
rect a  strange  notion,  as  any  chdactic  instruction 
oould  have  been.  However  this  may  have  been,  to 
the  above  letter  I  returned  the  following  answer : — 


WILLING    TO    BE    LOST.  19d 

"  My  Dear  Friend, — 

"  It  is  ratlicr  an  awkward  business  to  write  a  let- 
ter, when  you  do  not  know  whether  it  is  a  man  or 
a  woman  to  whom  you  are  -waiting.  But  I  am  placed 
just  in  that  position.  Your  initials  do  not  indicate 
your  sex. 

''  The  only  thing,  beyond  the  ordinary  range  of 
strictly  religious  matter,  Avhich  (as  I  judge  from  your 
letter),  you  have  any  special  need  that  I  should 
write  to  you,  is  a  few  words  to  call  your  attention 
to  the  influences  of  physical  condition  upon  religious 
sensibilities.  '  Thunder '  will  sometimes  kill  goslings, 
turn  milk  sour,  and  spoil  the  tanner's  calf-skins,  when 
they  are  at  a  particular  point  in  the  process  of  being 
manufactured  into  leather.  And  it  is  not  a  miracle, 
if  '  thunder '  sometimes  makes  you  sick.  Though  it 
may  be  a  very  humiliating  idea  to  us,  that  we  are 
sometimes  under  the  influence  of  external  physical 
causes  in  the  sacred  sensibilities  of  our  religion,  yet 
it  is  true.  The  east  wind  has  shaken  many  a  relig- 
ious hope.  We  have  not  yet '  spiritual  bodies'  supe- 
rior to  the  power  of  matter's  contact,  and  we  are 
greatly  liable  to  have  our  comforts  and  griefs  of 
mind  swayed  by  the  elements,  especially  when  a 
timid  or  peculiarly  sensitive  soul  is  connected  with 
a  body  not  made  of  iron.  The  outward  things 
of  nature,  such  as  'storms,'  and  'thunder,'  and 
*  waters,'  which  you  mention  (or  even  our  imagina 
9 


194  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST 

tion  at  work  upon  them),  may  have  upon  us  a  more 
powerful  effect  than  our  intellectual  or  spiritual 
pride  is  willing  to  confess.  Women  more  than  men 
are  liable  to  this,  (and  from  your  hand-writing,  I 
suppose  you  to  be  a  woman.) 

"So  far  as  your  religious  impressions  have  been 
moulded  by  Hopkins  or  Emmons,  you  may  be  un- 
fortunate ;  but  I  see  nothing  in  your  case  which  is 
very  uncommon,  or  which  need  gTcatly  perplex  you. 
***** 

"  It  seems  you  have  resort  to  Hopkins  and  Emmons, 
and  to  another  book  which  you  mention.  All  this 
may  be  very  well,  but  you  are  quite  too  much  affect- 
ec?  by  a  specvlative  spirit.  Be  a  child  :  not  a  philoso- 
pher, but  a  child :  not  a  servant,  but  a  child  :  not  an 
angel,  but  a  child, — -just  a  humble  child. 

"Let  me  lift  the  curtain  a  little,  and  give  you  a 
glimpse  of  what  lies  within  ;  when  I  say  that  specu- 
lation never  humbles  spiritual  pride.  You  are  start 
led.  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,  though  the  words  are 
not  '  thunder.^  But  you  may  be  assured  there  is  in 
the  suggestion  more  truth  than  poetry  or  politeness. 

"I  hope  you  are  a  Christian ;  but  a  little  more  sim- 
plicity would  not  hurt  you,  and  a  little  less  pride 

would  do  you  good." 

***** 

*     *     * 

Not  many  days  had  elapsed  before  I  received 


WILLING     TO     BE     LOST.  195 

from  my  unknown  correspondent  the  following  let- 
ter: — 

*  'X-  -x-  -x-  * 

"  You  have  taught  mc  a  lesson  I  shall  not  soon 
forget.  Oh !  sir,  you  have  '  lifted  the  curtain.'  I 
did  '  not  know  what  manner  of  spirit  I  was  of.'  You 
have  read  me  rightly, — '  a  little  more  simplicity 
would  not  harm  you,  a  little  less  pride  would  do 
you  good.'  Here  is  truth  condensed.  I  really  think 
I  feel  the  force  of  it  as  keenly  as  you  meant  I  should. 
The  night  I  received  your  most  welcome  letter  I  had 
little  to  do  with  sleep,  and  the  only  prayer  I  could 
ut^r  was,  '  Grod  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner.'  Sir,  I 
thank  you,  sincerely  thank  you  for  turning  my  eyes 
in  the  right  direction.  Why  did  I  not  know  my 
heart  better?  'Who  can  understand  his  errors? 
Cleanse  thou  me  from  secret  faults.' 

'  Show  me  my  sins,  and  how  to  mourn 
My  guilt  before  thy  face.' 

"  In  regard  to  my  leaving  you  in  the  dark  in 
respect  to  myself,  I  am  much  mortified,  and  can 
only  say  it  was  inexcusable  carelessness.  As  I  sat 
down  to  write,  I  felt  as  though  I  was  talking  to  one 
whom  I  knew  personally.  *  *  *  I  "beg  you  to 
forgive  me,  and  be  assured  I  shall  be  more  careful 
in  future.  I  feel  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  writ- 
ing, and  especially  for  your  faithfulness^  that  I  am 


196  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST. 

not  sorry  for  obtruding  my  unworthy  self  upon 
your  notice,  however  much  mortification  it  has 
occasioned  me.  *  *  *  Oh,  sir,  you  have  done 
me  goody  4f     *     * 

To  this  I  returned  the  following  answer  : — 

"  My  Dear  Madam, — 

''  I  have  just  received  your  last  letter,  and  seize 
a  moment  to  respond  to  it.  I  am  greatly  rejoiced, 
if  my  letter  afforded  you  profit  or  satisfaction ;  but 
I  am  quite  sorry  it  kept  you  awake.  That  condi- 
tion of  nervous  excitabilit}^,  which  forbids  your 
sleeping,  or  forbids  your  loving  '  thunder,'  is  not 
to  be  fostered  or  indulged.  It  will  do  your  religion 
(if  you  have  any,)  no  good ;  and  it  certainly  will 
not  lead  you  to  it,  if  you  are  still  an  unbeliever. 
Perhaps  you  have  not  sufficiently  considered,  that 
nerves  are  poor  counsellors.  You  would  do  well 
not  to  ask  their  advice.  You  had  better  ask  Paul, 
or  David,  or  Jeremiah  even,  if  you  must  have  the 
liberty  to  utter  '  Lamentations.'  And  more :  I 
am  not  willing  to  speak  evil  of  anybody,  but  I  can 
assure  you,  that  these  same  creatures,  called  nerves^ 
are  the  greatest  bars  in  the  country.  Do  not  be- 
lieve them,  when  they  tell  you  that  you  are  a  Chris- 
tian, or  when  they  tell  you  that  you  are  a  repro- 
bate. They  will  tell  lies  on  both  sides,  and  they 
don't  care  which.     I  did  hope  that  you  would  be 


WILT,  INC!     TO     BE     LOST.  197 

able  to  perceive  their  mischief,  by  what  I  said  to 
you  about  the  goslings  and  sour  milk,  and  calf- 
skins. But  you  have  \iot  mentioned  it  in  your 
letter.  What  I  mean  is  simply  this :  that  '  thun- 
der' has  an  inexplicable  effect  upon  some  such 
things,  with  which  religion  has  nothing  to  do  ;  and 
if  it  has  an  inexplicable  effect  upon  you^  you  need 
not  link  that  effect  with  your  religion :  your  sick- 
ness is  caused  by  the  '  thunder,'  not  by  your  de- 
pravity. '  Thunder,'  winds,  storms,  '  waters,'  may 
assail  your  timid  nerves,  and  set  them  again  at  their 
old  work  of  lies ;  but  your  religion  has  nothing  at 
all  to  do  with  the  matter.  If  old  Elijah  were  alive, 
he  could  tell  you  something  about  this. 

"You  sjoeak  of  seeing  me,  but  you  'fear  the 
water.'  I  should  be  happy  to  see  you,  madam,  but 
I  am  in  duty  bound  to  tell  you  that  you  would  be 
greatly  disappointed.  You  might  be  benefited,  in- 
deed, but  the  ivay  of  the  benefit  would  be  very  dif- 
ferent from  your  anticipation.  I  know  a  man,  who 
once  travelled  more  than  a  thousand  miles  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  a  minister,  whom  '>e  believed  to 
be  able  to  give  him  some  light  on  tlie  subject  of 
personal  religion,  and  all  the  good  he  received  from 
him  was  just  nothing  at  all ;  and  yet  this  was  the 
best  possible  good,  for  the  experiment  convinced  him 
fully  that  his  help  was  not  in  man. 

'  Let  me  lift  the  curtain  a  little  farther.     Faith, 


198  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST. 

you  know,  is  the  way  of  salvation,' — is  an  essential 
in  every  part  of  religion.  Sometimes  we  are  drawn 
to  faith,  and  sometimes  our  miserable  hearts  must 
be  driven  to  it.  ISiow,  though  I  believe  you  are  an 
amiable  woman,  (and  none  too  amiable  after  all,  at 
times j)  yet  somehow  or  other  you  are  not  easy  to  be 
drawn, — you  must  be  driven.  And  your  tempta- 
tions, and  fears,  and  plans,  and  efforts,  every  one  of 
them,  just  tend  to  draw  you  away  from  the  exercise 
of  a  naked,  simple  faith  in  God, — even  many  a  one 
of  your  prayers  has  had  the  same  effect,  because  j^ou 
trusted  the  praying  to  do  you  good,  instead  of  trust- 
ing Grod's  answer  to  do  you  good.  And  for  the 
proof  of  this,  I  call  upon  your  own  recollections, 
extending  over  years  of  fear  and  hope. 

"  One  thing  more.  There  is  an  order  in  the  snares 
and  temptations  of  the  devil.  He  has  three  classes 
of  temptations.  You  have  got  beyond  the  first,  and 
perhaps  the  second ;  but  you  are  not  safe  from  the 
third.  Yea,  you  are  very  much  exposed  to  it,  and 
the  more  so,  probably,  because  you  do  not  know  or 
even  suspect  what  itvis. 

"  First.  Satan  employs  the  world, — -just  aims  to 
keep  sinners  satisfied  to  love  earthly  things,  and 
pursue  them.  If  he  cannot  do  that,' — if  they  cannot 
be  made  to  live  on  without  any  kind  of  religion, 
— ^hunting  for  riches,  honor,  pleasure,  ease,  or  some 
such  thing,  then, — 


WILLINC      TO      RE      LOST.  199 

"  Second^  Satan  aims  to  lead  tliem  into  a  false 
religion^  into  deception,  into  some  delusion,  whicli 
shall  lull  tliem  into  a  false  peace  to  their  ruin. 
(You  have  been  quite  sufficiently  aware  of  this, — 
indeed  you  have  feared  it  too  much.)  But  if  he  can- 
not do  this, — if  they  have  too  much  knowledge  of 
the  Bible,  and  too  much  of  the  influences  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  to  be  led  into  a  false  hope,  then  the 
old  liar  shifts  his  ground  ;  and, — 

"  Third^  aims  to  drive  them  to  despair.  This  is  his 
last  effort,  and,  I  do  believe,  the  most  devilish  one 
of  all.  It  is  most  like  him,  for  it  is  at  once  the  inost 
false  and  most  miserable. 

"  But  I  must  stop.  '  Satan  hath  desired  to  have 
you,  that  he  may  sift  you  as  wheat ;'  but  I  trust  the 
Master  hath '  prayed  for  you,  that  your  faith  fail  not.' 

"  I  want  you  to  think  of  these  three  classes  of 
temptations,  and  to  opposc/a^^A  to  each  one  of  them. 
Just  fling  your  faith  into  the  face  of  the  devil,  how- 
ever he  may  come  to  you.  Especially,  my  dear 
friend,  think  of  tins  third  and  last  device  of  the 
adversary,  which  you  have  commonly  too  much 
overlooked,  and  let  faith  triumph  over  despair." 


-X- 


The  following  is  her  reply : — 

*'  How  shall  I  sufficiently  thank  you,  dear  sir,  for 
your  last  kind  letter  ?     I  cannot  make  3^ou  know 


200  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST. 

how  deeply  yuar  condescension  is  felt  and  appre- 
ciated. You  will  allow  me  now  to  tell  yon  all  my 
heart — I  mean  the  little  part  of  it  that  I  know. 

"  You  say  '  nerves  are  poor  counsellors,'  and 
that  '  they  are  the  greatest  liars  in  the  country.' 
Now  it  has  been  my  way  to  set  down  all  the  mis- 
chief you  ascribe  to  nerves^  to  a  wicked  heart  Here 
I  have  found  much  trouble;  but  you  have  in  a 
measure  convinced  me  that  I  have  got  to  learn  how 
to  use  the  shield  of  faith.  Oh,  sir,  my  eyes  are 
open.  Now  I  see  that  '  simple,  naked  faith  in  God  ' 
is  what  I  need ;  and,  if  I  am  not  wholly  deceived, 
my  resolution  is  taken.  I  will  give  Satan  the  lie, 
and  believe  God.  He  has  said,  'come  unto  me,' 
and  '  whosoever  cometh  I  will  in  nowise  cast  out,' 
Now  I  will  not  be  driven  from  a  firm,  practical  be- 
lief of  this  Messed,  faithful  promise.  This  doubting, 
half  dead,  half  alive  way  of  living,  is  to  be  aban- 
doned at  once  and  forever.  Not  in  my  own  strength 
may  I  attempt  this ;  but  lifting  a  tearful,  trusting 
eye  to  Jesus,  I  will  strive  to  maintain  a  '  cheerful 
courage,'  and  God  helping  me,  I  need  never  yield 
to  one  of  either  '  class  of  temptations,'  employed  by 
the  great  adversary.  But  if  my  sinful  heart  wil] 
sink  in  fear  and  dismay,  amidst  all  the  great  and 
precious  promises  made  by  Him  who  is  unchanging 
truth,  then  I  will  just  bring  this  wicked  heart  the 
sooner  to  Jesus,  that  he  may  renew  and  sanctify  it. 


WILLING     TO     BE     LOST.  201 

"How  well  I  know  what  you  mean  when  you  tell 
me  that  '  all  my  plans  and  efforts,  every  one  of 
them,  just  tend  to  drive  me  away  from  the  exercise 
of  a  naked,  simple  faith  in  God — even  many  a  one 
of  3'our  prayers  has  liad  the  same  effect.'  Oh,  I 
plead  guilty. 

*  -X-  *  *  * 

"  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  you  seem  to  know 
me  at  this  distance  better  than  I  know  myself.  *  * 
When  I  read  in  j^our  last   letter,  '  and  none  too 

amiable  after  all,  at  times,'  I  laughed  and  cried  both. 

*  *  *  *  * 

"  The  last  time  I  wrote  you  my  heart  was  too  full 
to  say  what  I  wanted  to.  Indeed  I  did  not  quite 
know  what  you  meant,  by  saying  what  you  did  in 
regard  to  the  effect  of  '  thunder '  on  '  goslings,  milk, 
and  the  tanner's  work.'  The  fact  is,  I  was  so  taken 
up,  or  rather  '  cast  down'  by  the  closing  part  of  your 
letter,  that  I  did  not  think  much  about  this.  Yes, 
dear  sir,  I  was  truly  '  cast  down  but  not  destroyed.' 
You  did  not  intend  I  should  be ;  but  now  I  will  just 
tell  you  the  whole  truth  of  the  matter.  I  felt  dis- 
tressed, and  the  question  I  wanted  you  to  answer 
was  this :  can  there  be  any  filial  love  in  the  heart 
that  is  so  full  of  slavish  fear  f  Well,  I  did  cherish  a 
secret  hope  that  you  would,  in  your  kindness,  send 
me  a  little  soothing  salve^  but  behold  a  probe  I  Oh, 
you  pierced  the  festering  wound,  and  I  bless  the 

9* 


202'  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST. 

Lord  for  all  you  said.  Your  words,  as  you  say, 
were  not  '  thunder ;'  no,  no ;  they  were  something 
very  different  from  mere  sound.  You  have  been  so 
faithful  to  me,  I  want  words  to  tell  you  how  much  I 
thank  you  for  it  all." 


This  letter  was  answered,  and  I  afterwards  receiv- 
ed the  following  reply : — 

*  *  *  "  But  now  let  me  tell  you  how  much 
good  you  have  done  my  poor  soul.  For  long  years^ 
my  time  was  spent  betwixt  hope  and  fear,  fear 
greatly  predominating.  When  I  united  with  the 
church,  instead  of  feeling  'joyful,'  I  was  just  able 
to  stand  on  this  precious  promise,  '  my  grace  is  suf- 
ficient for  thee.'  Often  I  was  led  to  see  my  sinful- 
ness in  such  a  light  as  to  hide  the  Saviour  from  my 
view.  Sometimes  I  was  afraid  to  pray,  lest  I  should 
be  struck  dead  in  the  act.  Sometimes  I  could  look 
only  at  the  power  and  the  justice  of  God,  and  could 
see  in  Him  only  the  stern  law-giver ;  and,  feeling  a 
deep  sense  of  my  guilty  I  have  trembled  where  I  ought 
to  have  loved.  But  since  I  read  *  *  *  *  and 
your  letters,  especially  the  second.,  I  have  been  made 
to  see  that  '  faith  is,'  indeed,  '  everything.'  Now  I 
can  look  to  Jesus ;  and  I  feel  so  happy  in  realizing 
that  he  is  all  I  need,     I  am  so  sinful,  but  He  is  so 


WILLING     TO     BE     L  >  S  T .  203 

holy,  He  is  worthy,  He  lias  made  all  the  sacrifice  the 
broken,  righteous  Lt,w  demanded ;  and  now,  as  I  am 
a  sinner  lost,  I  am  the  one  for  whom  He  died,  the 
one  He  came  to  seek  and  to  save.  All  I  can  do  is 
just  to  believe. 

"  Hitherto  I  have  read  the  Bible,  especially  the 
promises,   for  somebody  else.      I  could  apply  the 
greatest  of  them  in  a  most  comfortable  manner,  to 
Christians  about  me,  but  feared  to  apply  one  of  them 
fully  to  myself,  lest  I  should  be  lost  at  last !     But 
now  I  find  much  enjoyment  often  in  studying  the 
character  of  God  the  Father,  in  the  face  of  Jesus 
Christ.     Did  He  not  say,   '  he  that  hath  seen  me 
hath  seen  the  Father '  ?     Now  I  do  so  love  to  look 
at  God  in  Christ  my  Eedeemer.     Oh,  why  did  I  so 
long  refuse  to  trust  alone  in  Jesus  ?     I  have  indeed 
been  a  '  fool,  and  slow  of  heart  to  believe.'     Nor  do 
I  yet  know  much  about  it,  though  I  do  feel  encour- 
aged to  persevere  in  withstanding  every  temptation 
to  '  despair.'     For  now  I  say  to  Satan,  if  I  am  a 
sinner,  utterly  lost,  and  have  no  hope  of  making  my 
heart  any  better,  then  I  must  go  to  an  Almighty 
Saviour,  even  to  Him  '  who  is  able  to  save  to  the 
utteriyiostJ     Think   of  this   word   uttermost.     I  will 
believe  God.      I  will   love   the   Saviour,  whom  I 
would  embrace  in  the  arms  of  faith.     He  is  all  my 
hope.     For  a  little  while  at  a  time,  I  can  let  go  every 
cord  of  self-dependence,  and  just  fall  into  the  arms, 


204  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST. 

the  strong  arms  of  Jesus,  and  there  would  I  ever  lie. 

Sometimes  I  do  so  want  to  go  to  heaven,  that  I  may 

once  feel  just  as  sorry  for  sin  as  I  want  to  feel,  and  love 

the  Saviour  as  much  as  I  ought.     And  will  a  whole 

eternity  be  long  enough  to  praise  Him  ?  to  tell  the 

saints  and  angels  how  much  I  owe  to  Him,  who 

washed  me  in  His  own  blood  ?     Sometimes  I  love 

to  look  forward  to  the  time  when  all  the  redeemed 

will  be  gathered  home^  and  hope  to  meet  you  there, 

and  will  tell  you,  as  vv'e  sit  on  some   'green  and 

flowery  mount,'  all  the  Saviour  hath  done  for  my 

sinful  soul. 

^  4f  *  *  * 

"  I  will  not  close  this  letter  without  telling  you, 
the  last  thunder  shower  we  had  I  did  not  feel  half 
so  much  afraid  as  usual.  I  kept  thinking  all  the 
time,  I  will  give  my  body  and  my  soul  to  Jesus.  I 
will  '■  put  that  cloudy''  all  of  it  '  into  his  hand.''  He 
can  hold  the  lightning^  and  he  can  and  will  '  direct 
it,  under  the  whole  heaven.'  But  now  you  have 
put  another  comfort  into  my  heart :  you  say,  '  learn 
to  hear  in  the  thunder  the  voice  of  your  own  Fath- 
er— a  voice  not  threatening  to  you^  but  to  your  foesJ'' 


I  answered  this  letter  also,  and  in  a  few  days  I 
was  gratified  with  the  reception  of  the  following 
sentences  in  her  answer : — 


WILLING     TO     BE     LOST.  205 

*  *  *  "I  applied  to  you  for  aid  in  reference 
to  reconciHation  to  God.  And  now,  the  way  of  sal- 
vation by  faith  in  Jesus  Christy  looks  so  miicli 
plainer  than  it  ever  did  before,  I  feel  sometimes  as 
if  I  could  not  ever  let  go  the  thought,  that  Christ 
alone  is  the  way.  '  I  am  the  way.'  Oh,  my  Saviour, 
take  me. 

"  You  do  not  know  how  sinful  a  heart  I  have 
yet.  /do  not  know.  But  Jesus  knows  just  how 
much  I  need  his  pardoning  love, — ^how  much  grace 
I  need  to  keep  me  from  falling  into  sin  and  de- 
struction. I  look  back,  and  try  to  think  what  I 
have  been  doing  to  please  /Satan  and  grieve  my 
Eedeemer,  while  in  the  dark  and  cold  speculations 
arising  from  the  perusal  of  such  sermons  as  Dr. 
Emmons'  '  Pharaoh'  sermon,  '  for  in  very  deed  for 
this  cause  have  I  raised  thee  up.' 

"  But  T  turn  away  now,  and  just  try  to  '  be  a  childj^ 
not  a  servant,  but  a  child  :  not  a  philosopher,  but  a 
child, — just  a  humble  child." 

^  -x-  *  •»  -Jf  * 

*     -x-     * 

Extravagant  theological  opinions  are  apt  to  be 
adopted  by  those  very  persons  to  whom  they  are 
most  unappropriate  and  most  misguiding.  This 
woman  was  an  example.  She  was  the  last  woman 
in  the  world  to  have  any  need  of  the  stern  theology 


206  WILLING     TO     BE     LOST. 

of  Dr.  Hopkins  and  Dr.  Emmons,  (whom  she  per- 
haps misunderstood.)  Bj  natural  disposition  she 
was  greatly  inclined  to  fear ;  and  being  of  delicate 
sensibilities,  nervous,  imaginative,  poetical,  and  pe- 
culiarly affectionate,  the  severities  of  her  adopted 
theology  were  the  last  things  to  profit  her.  They 
made  her  miserable  only.  They  did  not  reach  her 
heart.  The  '  kindness  and  love'  of  the  gospel 
were  the  very  things  for  her.  Her  heart,  her  affec- 
tionate heart,  was  (if  I  may  say  so),  precisely 
adapted  to  them.  This  was  her  experience  after- 
wards. She  yielded  to  love  what  she  never  yielded 
to  terror^ — she  was  drawn  where  she  could  not  be 
driven^— faith  accomplished  for  her  what  fear  could 
not  accomplish,' — she  found  simplicity  better  than 
speculation ;  and  she  then  exchanged  perplexity  and 
despondency,  for  the  calmness  of  trust  and  the  sun- 
shine of  hope.  The  Law  was  before  her  mind 
when  she  tried  to  be  "  wilHng  to  be  lost."  No 
wonder  that  she  despaired.  She  received  relief, 
not  by  directing  her  eye  downwards  into  that  abyss 
of  midnight,  her  own  dark  heart;  but  by  being 
brought  to  look  away  to  Christ  and  his  glorious 
grace.  Christ  is  light.  Faith  is  the  eye  that  sees 
Him.  Christ  would  have  sinners  willing  to  be 
saved.  False  theology,  despondency,  and  the  Devil, 
would  have  them  wilhng  to  be  damned. 


€\}t  iir!)  of  IJciriiHs^. 

Among  my  parishioners,  there  was  a  poor  woman 
who  had  once  seen  better  days.  She  had  moved  in 
the  most  respectable  society,  the  wife  of  a  man  of 
wealth,  who  formerly  held  an  important  official  sta- 
tion in  the  state,  but  who  was  now  reduced  to  pov- 
erty ;  and,  trembling  with  the  weight  of  three  score 
years  and  ten,  had  greatly  lost  the  powers  of  his 
mind.  She  was  many  years  younger  than  her 
husband.  Neither  of  them  was  a  follower  of  Christ. 
Indeed,  after  their  early  years,  they  had  never  paid 
anything  more  than  a  formal  and  fashionable  atten- 
tion to  even  the  outward  duties  of  religion.  For 
years  after  their  marriage,  they  lived  in  splendor ; 
and  when  his  extravagance  had  squandered  his  for- 
tune, they  were  under  the  necessity  of  occupying 
the  crazy  old  house  where  I  first  became  acquainted 
with  them.  Through  the  benevolence  of  some 
wealthy  relations,  who  were  verj-  kind  to  them, 
their  temporal  necessities  were  so  provided  for,  that 
they  did  not  suffer. 

Earnestly  I  strove  to  interest  their  minds  in  the 


208  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

subject  of  religion.  The  old  man  appeared  to  me 
to  be  as  stupid  as  any  sinner  can  be ;  and  lie  re- 
mained so,  I  believe,  to  the  day  of  his  death, — a 
victim,  as  I  thought,  of  the  foolish  love  of  mere 
earthly  ostentation  and  pleasure.  Not  so,  his  far 
younger  wife.  She  listened  to  me  with  attention, 
and  apparent  interest,  as  I  spread  the  subject  of 
religion  before  her  mind,  on  my  first  visit  to  her 
house ;  and  Avhen  I  called  upon  her  again,  a  month 
afterwards,  I  found  she  had  commenced  reading  her 
Bible  with  evident  anxiety  and  prayer.  The  ques- 
tions she  asked  me,  and  her  tearfal  attention  to  my 
answers,  clearly  indicated  the  interest  she  felt  in 
this  great  subject,  which,  she  said,  was  "almost 
new"  to  her  thoughts  ;  for,  she  had  "  scarcely  given 
a  thought  to  it  in  twenty  years."  Said  she,  "  Plea- 
sure occupied  my  mind  at  first,  and  after  my  hus- 
band's failure,  it  was  all  I  could  think  of,  to  contrive 
how  we  should  live." 

She  bore  her  reverses  with  commendable  forti- 
tude,— ^labored  hard  to  support  herself  and  her 
husband,  kept  her  little  old  cottage  a  pattern  of 
neatness,  and  on  the  whole  she  won  the  respect  of 
the  few  neighbors  that  knew  her.  There  was 
nothing  about  her,  as  a  woman  or  as  an  inquiring 
sinner,  which  appeared  to  me  uncommon  or  pecu- 
liar. There  was,  indeed,  as  I  thought,  some  little 
manifestation  of  a  nervous  excitability,  when  she 


THE     BIRD     OF     l^ARADISE.  209 

mentioned  to  me  her  wicked  heart,  her  struggles  in 
prayer,  and  her  despondency  about  "ever  gaining 
the  forgiveness  of  God ;"  but  this  I  never  should 
have  thought  of  again,  had  it  not  been  for  what  oc- 
curred afterwards. 

About  a  week  after  I  had  seen  and  conversed 
with  her  at  her  house,  not  for  the  first  or  second 
time,  and  when  I  began  to  hope  that  she  was  '  not 
far  from  the  kingdom  of  God,'  she  called  upon  me. 
She  came  to  tell  me  of  her  hope  in  Christ,  and  how 
happy  she  was  now,  in  the  belief  that  God  had  for- 
given and  accepted  her.  She  trusted,  as  she  said, 
that  God  had  "  heard  her  prayers,  and  had  sent  her 
an  answer  of  peace." 

By  way  of  examining  her  state  of  mind,  in  order 
to  know  what  to  say  to  her,  I  asked  her  a  few  ques- 
tions, which  she  answered  in  a  manner  quite  satis- 
factory to  me.  I  found  in  her  nothing  to  make  me 
distrust  her, — indeed  nothing  but  the  contrary,  till 
I  asked  her, — 

"How  long  have  you  had  this  hope  and  'this 
delightful  happiness,'  which  you  mention  ?" 

"  Since  last  Thursday  night,"  was  her  reply.  (It 
was  now  Tuesday.) 

"  What  then  led  you  to  believe  that  God  had  '  heard 
your  prayer,  and  sent  3^ou  an  answer  of  peace  ?'  " 

"  It  was  what  I  saw,"  said  she,  with  some  little 
hesitation,  as  if  reluctant  to  answer. 


210  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

"  What  did  you  see  ?" 

"  It  was,"  said  slie,  hesitating, — '^  it  was  a  great 
light,"  and  she  spake  it  solemnly,  and  with  evident 
sincerity,  but  some  excitement. 

"  Indeed !"  said  I.    "  And  where  did  you  see  it?" 

"  In  my  room." 

"  What  was  it? — what  caused  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  was,  but  it  was  wonderful  I 
I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  Did  it  frighten  you?" 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all." 

''  Was  it  moonshine  ?" 

*'  No,  not  at  all  like  it." 

"  Did  it  shine  in  at  the  window  ?  or  through  a 
crack  ?" 

"  Neither ;  it  was  just  in  the  room." 

"What  did  it  look  like?" 

"  It  was  very  wonderful,  the  sweetest  light  I  ever 
saw.  It  was  brighter  than  any  sunshine ;  but  it  was 
so  mild  and  soft  that  it  did  not  dazzle  the  eyes.  It 
was  perfectly  beautiful — most  enchanting." 

"  Well  now,  Mrs.  L ,  just  tell  me  all  about  it; 

I  want  to  know  how  that  was,  the  time,  and  aU 
about  it." 

Seeming  to  arrange  her  thoughts,  she  replied, — 

"  I  had  been  sitting  up  a  long  time    after  Mr. 

L went  to  bed,  reading  my  Bible  and  trying  to 

pray,  and  I  almost  despaired  of  mercy,  because  my 


THE     BIRD     OF     P  A  R  A  D  I  S  K  .  211 

heart  was  so  wicked  and  obstinate.  I  felt  as  if  I 
could  not  go  to  bed  tliat  night,  without  some  proof 
that  God  would  have  mercy  upon  me.  I  was  terri- 
fied with  tlie  thought  of  his  wriith,  but  I  felt  that  I 
deserved  it  all.  Finally  I  went  to  bed.  I  had  been 
lying  in  bed  about  half  an  hour  thinking  of  my  con- 
dition, and  all  at  once,  the  most  beautiful  light  I 
ever  saw  shined  all  over  the  room.  It  was  a 
strange  kind  of  light ;  brighter  than  da}^,  brighter 
than  any  sunshine ;  but  a  great  deal  more  beautiful 
and  sweet.  It  was  mild  and  so  soothing,  it  filled  me 
with  perfect  peace,  a  kind  of  sweet  ecstacy,  like  a 
delightful  dream.  Then,  in  an  instant,  as  I  was 
thinking  how  delightful  it  was,  there  appeared  the 
most  beautiful  creature  that  I  ever  saw.  I  was  per- 
fectly enchanted  and  carried  away  with  the  beauty 
of  it,  its  colors  were  so  sweet  and  mingled,  and  its 
form  so  graceful.  It  was  a  bu"d.  He  had  a  rainbow 
in  his  bill,  and  a  crown  of  glittering,  soft-shining 
gold  upon  his  head  ;  he  was  resting  on  a  globe  of  the 
softest  blue,  the  most  enchanting  color  that  ever  was. 
I  never  before  conceived  of  anything  so  beautiful. 
His  color,  and  his  figure,  and  the  crown  of  shining 
gold  upon  his  head,  the  rainbow  he  held  in  his  bill, 
and  the  blue  globe  he  stood  on,  and  the  bright 
sweet  light  wliich  filled  the  room,  were  all  of  them 
more  beautiful  and  lovely  than  anytliing  I  ever 
thought  of  before.     I  was  amazed  and  perfectly  hap- 


212  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

py.  'What  is  itV  says  I,  'what  is  it?'  'Why  it 
is  the  bird  of  Paradise,'  says  I.  'My  precious 
!Father  has  sent  it  to  me  from  heaven,  1  will  not  des- 
pair any  longer.'  Then,  I  thought  how  happy  I 
am ;  God  has  heard  me  and  had  mercy  upon  me.  I 
have  been  perfectly -happy  ever  since." 

She  appeared  to  be  in  an  ecstacy  of  delight. 

"  What  makes  you  so  happy  ?" 

"Because,  I  think  Grod  has  forgiven  me,  and  be- 
cause now  I  love  Him  and  trust  Him." 

"  How  do  you  feel  about  sin  f 

"  Oh,  I  hate  it.  It  displeases  God,  and  separates 
me  from  Him." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Christ  ?" 

"  He  is  a  precious  Saviour.  I  love  Him  and  trust 
in  Him." 

"For  what  do  you  trust  Him?" 

"  For  everything  — for  pardon,  and  peace,  and 
heaven." 

"  Do  you  think  you  are  holy  now? 

"  No ;  I  know  that  I  sin  every  hour.  But  God  is 
gracious  to  me  and  fills  me  with  joy." 

"  Do  you  rejoice  because  you  are  so  good?" 

"  No ;  I  rejoice  because  God  has  been  so  good  to 
me." 

"  What  have  you  done  to  gain  his  favor." 

"  /have  done  nothing  only  turn  to  Him." 

"Did  you  turn  to  Him  of  yourself  ?" 


THE     BIRD     OF     I'AKADISE.  213 

"  No ;  I  iried^  but  my  heart  would  not  yield,  and 
I  prayed  for  the  Holy  Spirit." 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  be  saved  ?" 

^'  B}^  the  mercy  of  God^  through  my  Saviour." 

"  How  do  you  know  He  is  ijour  Saviour  ?" 

"  Because  I  trust  iu  Him,  and  He  has  promised 
to  save  all  that  come  unto  Him." 

"  Have  you  any  douht  about  your  forgiveness  ?" 

"No,  sir,  not  much, — none  that  troubles  me.  I 
know  mj^  heart  is  deceitful ;  but  I  trust  only  in 
Christ,  and  then  I  am  safe." 

"Do  you  think  the  appearance  which  you  saw 
on  Thursday  night,  was  something  sent  by  God?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  was." 

"  How  do  you  know  but  the  devil  sent  it  ?" 

"  I  never  thought  it  could  come  from  anything 
but  God." 

"  For  what  purpose  do  you  think  He  sent  it  ?" 

"  To  give  me  peace." 

"  What  recLson  have  you  to  think  it  was  sent  to 
assure  you  of  God's  favor  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  reason  I  have  to  think  so, 
only  I  was  made  so  happy." 

"  Does  the  Bible  teach  you  that  God  gives  such 
visions  as  an  evidence  of  His  favor?" 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  a  miracle?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  thought  God  sent  it." 


214  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

"  What  o'clock  was  it  wlien  yon  saw  the  light  ?" 

"  About  one  o'clock,  I  shonld  think." 

*'  Was  the  moon  np  ? 

"  No,  it  had  gone  down  about  an  hour  before." 

"  What  makes  you  think  it  was  one  o'clock  ?" 

"  Because  it  was  ten  when  Mr.  L went  to 

bed.  Then  I  sat  up  a  long  time,' — I  should  think 
more  than  two  hours,  reading  and  praying,  and 
thinking  about  my  danger  of  being  lost ;  and  I  had 
been  in  bed  some  time, — I  cannot  tell  exactly  how 
long  — half  an  hour  perhajDS." 

"  Had  you  been  asleep  ?" 

"  No,  I  think  not." 

"  Were  you  asleep  when  you  saw  it?" 

"  Oh  no ;  I  was  as  much  awake  as  I  am  now." 

"  Did  you  see  the  light  and  the  bird  with  your 
natural  eyes^  the  same  as  you  see  me  now  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Where  were  they  ?" 

"  In  my  room." 

"  Did  Mr.  L see  them?" 

"  No,  he  was  asleep." 

^'If  he  had  been  awake,  do  you  think  his  eyes 
would  have  seen  them  ?" 

"  Certainly,  I  suppose  so." 

"  Why  didn't  you  wake  him  ? — is  not  he  fond  of 
birds?" 

*'  I  don't  know  but  he  is  fond  of  birds,"  said  she, 


THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE.  216 

with  a  very  doubtful  look,  "  but  I  never  thought  of 
waking  him." 

"  Have  you  got  a  canary-bird  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  she,  as  if  doubtful  of  my  meaning. 

''  Did  you  ever  see  a  bird  of  Paradise?" 

"  No,  sir,  not  alive.     I  have  seen  stuffed  ones." 

"  Which  are  the  prettiest,' — ^the  stuffed  ones  or 
the  one  you  saw  that  night  ?" 

She  cast  her  eyes  down,  with  a  look  of  mingled 
sadness  and  confusion,  evidently  thinking  by  this 
time  that  I  meant  to  ridicule  her  vision ;  but  she 
replied,  mildly  and  solemnly, — 

''  Nothing  on  earth  can  be  compared  with  what  I 
saw  that  night." 

"  Did  the  bird  sing  any  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  That  is  a  pity.  If  he  had  only  sung,  then  you 
would  have  had  a  song  of  Paradise.  What  became 
of  the  bird?" 

"  It  went  away." 

"  Why  didn't  you  catch  it  and  cage  it  ?  It  would 
have  brought  a  good  price  in  Boston.  Did  it  fly 
out  of  the  window  ?" 

"  I  said  it  went  away ;  I  mean  by  that,  that  the 
light  and  all  I  saw  vanished  away,  and  I  saw  them 
no  more." 

"  How  long  did  they  stay  before  they  vanished  ?" 

"  Only  a  few  minutes." 


216  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

"What  did  you  do  wlien  they  were  gone?" 

"  I  lay  for  a  long  time  thinking  about  it,  and  feel» 
ing  delighted  and  grateful  to  God." 

"  Grateful  for  the  canary  bird  and  the  rainbow  ? 
Do  you  mean  that  V 

"  No  sir,  not  that  so  much ;  but  grateful  for  God's 
great  love  to  me,  to  pardon  so  unworthy  a  sinner." 

"  Did  the  bird  tell  you  God  had  pardoned  you  ?" 

"  No  sir." 

"  What  made  you  think  he  had  ?" 

"  What  I  saw,  and  my  own  happy  feelings." 

"  What  makes  you  happy  ?" 

"  Because  I  love  God  and  trust  in  Christ." 

"  Would  you  have  loved  God,  if  you  had  not  seen 
the  bird?" 

''  I  don't  know  ;  I  hope  so."  . 

"  When  did  you  begin  to  feel  so  happy  ?" 

"  Thursday  night." 

"  Just  when  you  saw  the  bird,  was  it  ?" 

"Yes  sir." 

"  It  is  a  great  pity  you  did  not  catch  that  bird. 
If  the  sight  of  him  is  so  effectual,  we  could  carry 
him  around  here  among  impenitent  sinners ;  and,  as 
soon  as  they  saw  him,  one  after  another,  they  would 
become  happy,  excellent  Christians,  and  your  bird 
would  be  worth  more  to  convert  sinners  than  forty 
ministers  like  me.  Do  you  expect  to  see  that  bird 
again  ?" 


THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE.  21*7 

"  No,  I  have  no  sucli  expectation." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  L ,  do  jou  feel  sure  all  that  was 

not  a  dream  V 

" It  was  no  dream,"  said  she,  seriously.  ''I  was 
awake.  Don't  you  think  1  saw  that  light,  sir  ?"  said 
she  with  an  imploring  look. 

"No,  madam;  I  don't  believe  you  saw  any  such 
thing.  I  believe  you  think  you  saw  it ;  but  I  believe 
it  was  all  in  your  own  imagination,  and  nowhere 
else." 

She  shook  her  head  very  emphatically,  as  if  fixed 
in  the  opposite  opinion. 

"  Mrs.  L ,"  said  I,  "  do  you  ever  drink  wine, 

or  any  stimulating  drink  ?" 

"  No  sir  ;  not  at  all." 

"  Do  you  ever  take  opium  or  laudanum  ?" 

"  Not  unless  the  doctor  orders  it  when  I  am  sick." 

"  Had  you  taken  anything  that  night?" 

"  No  ;  nothing  but  our  tea." 

"  Do  you  drink  strong  tea  ?" 

"No  sir;  I  don't  like  it." 

"Are  you  a  nervous  woman?" 

"  At  times,  I  think  I  am." 

"  "Were  you  nervous  that  night  ?" 

"  I  was  not  sensible  of  being  so.  I  was  weary, 
and  I  felt  very  sad.  I  was  G^ite  excited  at  times 
before  I  went  to  bed,  thinking  of  eternity  to  come." 

"  Mrs.  L ,  can  you  remember  particularly  what 

10 


218  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

you  were  tliinking  about  tliat  evening,  just  before 
you  retired  to  rest  ?  See  if  you  can  recollect,  and 
tell  me  exactly  wliat  was  in  your  tliouglits  just  be- 
fore you  lay  down." 

After  a  considerable  pause  she  replied,' — 

"  I  liad  been  thinking  and  praying  a  long  time, 
about  my  sins  and  my  wicked,  miserable  heart ;  and 
I  tried  to  give ,  up  all  into  tlie  hands  of  Christ,  as 
you  had  so  often  told  me  I  must.  I  thought  I  did, 
and  then  I  wondered  that  Grod  did  not  give  me  peace. 
And  afterwards  I  thought  how  hapjjy  I  should  be,  if 
God  would  give  me  a  new  heart ;  and  then  I  won- 
dered how  I  should  knoAV  it  if  He  did." 

"  You  thought,"  said  I,  "  how  happy  you  should 
be,  if  God  would  give  you  a  new  heart ;  and  then 
you  wondered  how  you  should  know  it  if  He  did. 
But  you  did  not  think  of  seeing  a  bird,  or  a  rain- 
bow ?" 

She  opened  her  lips  as  if  to  answer,  but  cast  her 
eyes  downwards,  and  said  nothing.  A  slight  flush 
came  over  her  cheek,  but  her  look  was  that  of  sor- 
row, not  of  resentment. 

Said  I:  "  Mrs.  L.^ — — ^,  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you 
with  so  many  questions,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  afflict 
you.  Many  things  you  say  to  me  would  almost 
convince  me  that  you  really  had  peace  with  God, 
if  these  things  were  not  so  mixed  up  with  that 
vision  which  seems  to  have  been  the  origin  of  your 


THE     niRI)     OF     PARADISE.  219 

joy,  and  which  /  hnow  was  only  a  dream,  or  the 
work  of  your  own  imagination,  while  you  were  half 
asleep  and  half  awake.  If  you  rely,  in  the  least, 
upon  that  vision,  that  miracle,  as  an  evidence  of 
your  pardon ;  you  rely  on  a  mere  fancy,  a  mere 
nothing.  It  is  no  evidence  at  all.  It  is  just  as 
mucli  a  proof  that  you  will  be  lost,  as  that  you  will 
be  saved.  At  best,  your  vision  was  nothing  but  a 
fancy,  an  imagination,  coming  from  your  nervous- 
ness, induced  by  the  weariness  of  j^our  brain  when 
you  lay  down.  I  can  account  for  your  vision. 
You  have  just  given  me  the  clue.  You  had  just 
been  thinking  '  how  happy  you  should  be,'  if  God 
accepted  you  ;  and  you  had  been  '  wondering  how 
vou  should  know  it.'  With  these  two  ideas  you 
went  to  bed,^ — one  idea  of  great  happiness^  and  the 
other  of  some  wonderful  thing,  (you  knew  not 
what,)  to  lead  you  to  that  happiness.  Then,  in  a 
state  betwixt  sleeping  and  waking,  (when  the  im- 
agination is  most  busy,  and  the  reason  and  mil  lie 
most  still,)  your  imagination  just  wrought  out  the 
expected  wonder^  to  teach  you  something,  (or  con- 
vince you,)  and  the  expected  happiness^  which  you 
so  eagerly  longed  for.  This  accounts  for  all  you 
thought  you  beheld.  Your  eyes  saw  nothing.  As 
soon  as  your  astonishment  and  ecstasy  had  so  fully 
waked  you  up,  that  the  spell  of  your  imagination 
was  broken,  and  your  eyes  really  began  to  see  ;  your 


220  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

vision  vanished.  This  is  the  truth  of  the  whole 
matter,  probably.  God  had  no  more  to  do  with 
your  light,  your  rainbv)w,  and  your  new-fashioned 
canary-bird,  than  the  devil  had. 

"Now,  Mrs.  L. ,  I  have  only  one  thing  more 

to  ask  you ;  but  I  am  not  certain  that  I  can  make 
myself  understood.  I  will  try.  You  know  we 
speak  of  remembering  things.  We  rememiber^  be- 
cause something  made  an  impression  on  our  mind 
sometime  before — a  thing  capable  of  being  remem- 
bered. We  recollect  the  impression :  that  is  re- 
membering. Kealities  make  an  impression,  and 
dreams  make  an  impression  also.  And  we  re- 
member hoik.  But  when  we  remember  things  that 
really  took  place,  we  have  to  recall  the  impression 
left  on  our  mind  hy  facts^ — and  when  we  remember 
dreams,  we  recall  the  impression  left  on  our  mind 
by  imaginations  only.  Now,  there  is  a  difference 
betwixt  the  impression  left  on  our  mind  by  real 
occurrences,  and  the  impression  left  on  our  mind 
by  imaginations  only,  or  by  a  dream ;  such  a  differ- 
ence, that  we  are  not  very  apt  to  mistake  a  dream 
for  something  that  really  took  place.  We  can  re- 
member both,  but  they  are  not  just  alike.  The 
impression  of  a  dream  is  not  exactly  like  the  im- 
pression made  by  something  when  we  were  awake, 
though  it  may  be  very  plain  and  deep.  But 
there  is  a  difference  betwixt  the  impressions,  and 


THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE.  221 

also  betwixt  tlie  rememberings.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

''  Yes,  I  know  tliere  is." 

"  Very  well.  Now  I  want  you  to  rememher  very 
carefully  what  you  saw,  Thursday  night ;  and  tell 
me  whether  the  imj^ression  left  on  your  mind  then 
is  most  like  the  impi'ession  left  by  a  dream,  or  most 
like  the  impression  left  by  something  when  you 
were  awake.  And  tell  me  whether  your  act  of  re- 
membering most  remembles  the  act  of  remembering 
a  dream,  or  most  resembles  the  act  of  remembering 
what  took  place  when  you  were  awake.  Do  you 
understand  me  ?" 

"  Yes  sir,  perfectly." 

*'  Yery  well.  Now  carefully  consider  the  thing. 
Take  time  to  think  of  it.  Eecollect  what  you  saw 
Thursday  night ;  and  tell  me  whether  your  impress- 
ion and  recollection  of  it  most  resemble  the  impress- 
ion and  recollection  of  a  dream,  or  something  not  a 
dream." 

She  sat  in  silence  for  two  or  tliree  minutes,  closed 
her  eyes  as  if  absorbed  in  thought,  then  rose  and  look- 
ed studiously  out  at  the  window,  then  sat  down  and 
closed  her  eyes  for  some  two  or  three  minutes  more. 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  said  she,  "  I  am  at  a  loss.  That 
does  seem  more  like  a  dream  than  like  a  real  thing. 
But  I  was  awake.  My  eyes  were  open.  I  don't  re- 
member waking  up." 


222  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

Said  I,  "  I  don't  wish,  you  to  reason^  or  argue^  or 
decide  anything  about  it,  whether  you  were  asleep  or 
awake.  I  only  wish  you  to  tell  me  as  you  remem- 
ber that  night,  whether  your  impression  resembles 
most  the  impression  of  a  dream,  or  an  impression 
made  when  you  were  awake." 

After  a  pause,  she  replied  slowly  and  thought- 
folly,- 

''It  is  just  like  a  dream ;  but  I  was  awake,  for 
my  eyes  were  open." 

"  Yery  well,  madam,  I  will  not  trouble  you  any 
more.  If  you  want  to  know  what  religion  is,  ask 
your  Bible,  don't  ask  night  birds,  or  night  rainbows." 

I  saw  this  woman  afterwards  and  conversed  with 
her  often.  Had  it  not  been  for  her  vision,  and  the 
use  she  made  of  it,  she  would  have  appeared  to  me 
to  be  a  humble  child  of  God.  But  I  had  no  confi- 
dence in  her  conversion. 

Some  few  months  after  this,  she  proposed  to 
unite  with  the  church.  I  discouraged  her.  But  after 
she  had  lived  about  a  year  as  a  pious  woman,  so  far 
as  I  could  discover,  she  was,  with  much  hesitation, 
received  as  a  communicant;  and  I  knew  her  for 
some  years  afterwards,  presenting  satisfactory  evi- 
dence of  being  a  true  Christian.  In  one  of  the  last 
interviews  I  had  with  her,  she  told  me  she  had  be- 
come convinced  that  "  the  strange  sights  she  saw  on 
that  Thursday  night,  existed  only  in  her  own  fancy." 


T II  R    B I  n  1)    OF    r  A  H  A  D  I  s  r, .  223 

Wlien  I  asked  wliat  had  convinced  her,  she  replied, 
"  I  have  been  sick  since  then  two  or  three  times  ;  and 
when  I  was  sick  and  very  nervous,  I  had  some  other 
strange  sights  which  I  know  were  fancies,  though 
they  seemed  as  real  as  that  one  did." 

"  Perhaps  they  were  not  fancies." 

"  Yes,  they  were  sir." 

"How  do  you  knoAv?" 

"Because,  as  soon  as  I  went  to  examine  into 
them  they  were  gone.  When  I  got  up  from  the 
bed  there  was  nothing  there." 

" "Were  you  ahvays  in  bed  when  you  saw  them?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  made  you  get  up  to  examine  ?" 

"  Because  I  remembered  what  you  said  about  the 
bird  of  Paradise,  as  I  called  it,  and  I  was  determin- 
ed to  know  what  these  things  were." 

''  But  you  could  not  catch  them." 

"  No  ;  as  soon  as  I  stirred  and  got  out  of  bed  the 
charm  was  broken." 

"  What  were  these  things  you  call  a  charm  ?" 

"  Various  things,  such  as  splendid  colors,  beauti- 
ful animals,  ladies  dressed  with  great  taste  and  in 
very  rich,  gay  dresses,  and  moving  like  angels." 

"Are  you  asleep  when  these  things  appear  to 
you?" 

"  No,  not  at  all ;  I  am  awake  and  thinking." 

"  What  do  you  think  they  are  ?" 


224  THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE. 

"I  tMnk  they  are  notlimg.     But  wlien  I  liave 
been  agitated,  and  become  nervous  and  tired,  after 
I  get  a  little  calmed  down,  and  feel  quiet  and  happy, 
these  beautiful  things  seem  to  be  before  my  eyes." 
"  Do  you  see  them  when  your  eyes  are  open  ?" 
"  Yes,  sometimes,  when  the  room  is  dark." 
"  Yery  well,  madam,  you  have  got  right  now." 
"  I  wish,"  said  she,  "  you  would  not  say  anything 
about  that  bird  of  Paradise,  and  the  blue  globe  I 
told  you  about  at  first.     I  was  deceived.     I  know 
they  had  nothing  to  do  with  religion,  and  I  do  not 
rely  upon  them  at  all  as  any  witness  that  God  has 
given  me  a  new  heart." 

The  religious  treatment  of  persons  of  strong 
imagination  and  weak  nerves,  is  one  of  the  most 
delicate  and  difficult  duties.  The  imagination  has 
an  extent  of  power  over  both  the  intellect  and  the 
body  itself,  of  which  few  persons  are  suitably  aware.. 
The  voices  Avhich  are  said  to  be  heard  by  those  re- 
ligiously affected,  the  sights  which  are  seen,  the  in- 
stances of  falling  down  speechless  and  without 
power  to  move,  the  sudden  cures  of  infirmity,  said 
to  be  effected  by  the  prayer  of  faith,  the  deaths 
which  have  occurred  just  as  the  persons  themselves 
foretold,  and  for  which  they  made  all  their  temporal 
arrangements, — all  such  things  are  to  be  attributed 
to  the  power  of  the  imagination  and  excited  nerves. 


THE     BIRD     OF     PARADISE.  225 

Religion  lias  nothing  to  do  with  them.  Superstition 
and  fanaticism  transform  them  into  miracles;  but 
there  is  no  miracle  about  them.  Much  less  is  there 
any  religion  in  them.  Religion  is  taught  in  the 
Bible.  Ignorance  and  nerves  should  not  attempt  to 
add  to  it.  The  east  wind  is  not  a  good  gospel  min- 
ister.    Many  of  its  doctrines  are  very  incorrect. 

In  the  case  of  this  woman,  the  proper  influences 
of  divine  truth  were  mingled  up  with  the  workings 
of  an  excited  imagination  and  weak  nerves,  and  her 
superstitious  notions  did  not  discriminate  betwixt 
the  two.  She  at  first  supposed,  with  solemn  and 
grateful  sincerity,  that  God  had  sent  this  vision  to 
her  as  an  assurance  that  she  was  forgiven.  And  it 
is  not  likely  that  all  I  said  to  her  would  entirely 
have  corrected  her  erroneous  idea,  had  not  her  sub- 
sequent experience  lent  its  aid.  But  when  she  came 
to  have  other  visions  which  resembled  it,  and  on 
examination  found  them  to  be  fancies  only,  her 
common  sense  led  her  to  the  conclusion  that  nothing 
but  fancy  created  that  beautiful  Hght,  that  rainbow, 
that  globe  of  blue,  and  bird  of  Paradise.  There 
can  be  no  security  against  the  worst  and  wildest  of 
errors,  but  by  a  close  and  exclusive  adherence  to  the 
Word  of  God,  to  teach  us  what  religion  is. 
10* 


I  WAS  sent  for  by  a  woman  wlio  was  in  great  dis- 
tress, in  respect  to  her  preparation  for  deatli.  She 
was  fully  convinced  that  she  shonld  not  live  long, 
though  now  able  to  ride  out  daily,  and  seldom  con 
fined  to  her  bed  by  her  infirmity.  She  was  a 
member  of  a  neighboring  church ;  but  she  said, — 
*'  I  have  no  peace  of  mind,  and  no  witness  that  God 
has  given  me  a  new  heart." 

I  had  not  been  acquainted  with  her  before.  She 
appeared  to  be  an  ununaginative,  amiable  woman, 
who  loved  her  husband  and  her  children,  but  she 
had  not  a  very  discriminating  mind.  Her  wealthy, 
moral,  but  irreligious  parents  had  done  little  for 
her,  except  to  indulge  her  and  train  her  in  the  love 
of  money,  and  the  enjoyments  it  can  furnish. 

I  strove  to  instruct  her  in  the  way  of  life.  I  visited 
her  almost  every  week  for  a  long  time.  She  gained 
little  or  nothing  in  hope.  There  was  something 
strange  about  her,  which  I  could  not  understand. 
Her  mind  would  be  drawn  off  from  the  very  things 


SUPERSTITION.  227 

which  I  was  most  anxious  to  fasten  upon  it.  One 
day  she  mentioned  to  me  what  a  "  bright  witness," 
as  she  called  it,  one  of  her  acquaintances  had.  She 
told  me  what  it  was.  "  It  was  a  great  light  that 
appeared  to  her,  and  filled  all  the  room  where  she 
was."  The  silly  girl  who  told  her  this  silly  story 
some  years  before,  had  sometimes  induced  her  to  at- 
tend religious  meetings  with  her,  among  a  class  of 
people  more  apt  to  see  such  visions,  and  more  fond 
of  them  than  I  am ;  and  now,  the  poor  woman's 
mind  was  constantly  on  the  look-out  for  some  such 
" great  light."  She  said,  "I  want  some  witness  to 
myself."  With  this  expectation  her  mind  was  occu- 
pied ;  it  was  called  off  from  the  truth,  and  bewildered 
and  confused  by  this  superstition.  Again  and  again 
I  explained  to  her  the  unscriptural  nature  of  all 
such  notions,  and  taught  her  that  such  "  great  lights  " 
existed  only  in  the  imaginations  of  people,  very 
nervous  or  very  silly,  or  both.  I  thought  I  had 
succeeded  in  dissipating  her  superstitious  notions, 
and  for  some  months  (during  the  lapse  of  which  I  oft- 
en saw  her),  I  had  hoped  that  she  was  led  to  put  faith 
before  fancy,  and  look  to  Christ  and  not  to  visions,  for 
comfort  and  salvation.  But  after  all  this,  being  in 
trouble  she  sent  for  me.  I  went.  She  brought  up 
the  same  story  of  a  "  g^reat  light,"  and  asked  me, — 
^^  Why  donH  /see  some  such  witness?" 
"  For  three  reasons,"  said  I ;  ^^first^  you  arc  not 


228  SUPERSTITION. 

nervous  enougli ;  second^  you  are  not  imaginative 
enougli ;  thirds  you  are  not  quite  fool  enough." 

Then  I  went  over  all  the  explanations  of  Bible 
religion  again,  and  all  the  arguments  to  demonstrate 
the  superstition  of  such  notions  as  she  had  about 
some  external  witness,  and  expel  it  from  her  mind. 
She  appeared  to  be  convinced,  said  she  was,  and  for 
some  weeks  seemed  to  enjoy  a  rational  hope  in 
Christ.     I  had  a  hope  for  her. 

A  few  days  before  her  death  she  sent  for  me 
again.  She  was  in  deep  distress,' — ^in  despair.  She 
asked  me  if  I  thought  she  should  "  not  have  some 
such  bright  witness  before  she  died."  She  died 
without  it. 

Superstition  is  mischievous.  It  hinders  the  exer- 
cises of  faith,  where  faith  exists ;  it  prevents  faith 
where  it  does  not  exist.  Superstitious  people  are 
mlly.  The  sights  they  see,  the  strange  sounds  they 
hear,  the  voices  whispering  some  words  or  some 
texts  of  Scripture  in  their  ears,  are  nothing  but  fan- 
cies, not  facts ;  and  if  they  were  facts,  they  would 
be  no  evidence  at  all  that  these  persons  had  become 
the  children  of  God.  Bible  evidences  of  religion 
are  entirely  different. 


aatljistliug  C^iiifur. 


"  There  are  some  instances  of  religious  experience 
wliicli  can  never  be  reconciled  to  a  theological  sys- 
tem."    The  expression  of  the  old  gentlemen  startled 

me.     I  was   closeted  with   the  Eev.  Dr.  P ,  a 

man  turned  of  seventy — a  divine  of  a  good  deal  of 
celebrity  in  that  part  of  the  country.  Forty  years 
at  least  his  junior,  I  had  sought  opportunity  to  con- 
sult him  in  respect  to  some  difficulties  and  peculiar- 
ities, which  troubled  the  hearts  of  two  or  three  of 
my  acquaintances.  I  wished  to  learn ;  and  I  thought 
from  his  years,  and  his  high  reputation,  that  he  could 
instruct  me. 

I  had  just  stated  to  him  the  case  of  an  individual, 
and  he  made  the  remark  which  surprised  me.  As 
he  did  not  add  any  explanation,  and  as  I  thought 
from  his  silence  that  he  intended  to  leave  me  to  di- 
gest the  remark  as  best  I  could,  Avhile  he  whistled 
and  looked  out  carelessly  upon  the  sky  ;  I  repeated 
his  words  after  him,  "  there  are  some  instances  of 
religious  experience  which  can  never  be  reconciled 
to  a  theological  system,"  and  then  I  added, — 


230  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

"  It  appears  to  me,  sir,  if  tliat  declaration  is  true, 
then  the  religious  experience  of  whicli  yon  speak 
must  hQ  false,  spurious;  or  else  the  theological  system 
must  be  false." 

"  Whyr  said  he,  gruffly. 

"  Because,  sir,  if  the  experience  and  the  system 
are  both  true,  surely  they  will  not  quarrel.  Lies 
quarrel  sometimes ;  truths  never  do.  Things  that 
agree  with  truth  agree  wdth  each  other.  If  a  re- 
ligious experience  agrees  with  trutli,  (as  certainly  it 
micst,  as  far  as  it  is  religious,)  and  a  theological  sys- 
tem agrees  w^ith  truth,  then  they  are  alike ;  they 
need  no  reconciling.  '  Things  equal  to  the  same  are 
equal  to  one  another.'  " 

"  Euclid  !"  said  the  queer  old  man ;  and  then  he 
began  to  whistle  again,  and  look  out  at  the  win- 
dow.    In  a  few  minutes  he  turned  to  me,' — 

"  All  you  say  is  true,"  said  he,  in  a  careless  man- 
ner ;  "  but  if  you  live  to  preach  many  years,  and 
become  much  acquainted  with  people,  you  will  find 
some  Christians  whose  experience  will  not  square 
with  your  theology." 
'     "  Then,"  said  I,  "  my  theology  must  be  falser 

The  old  man  whistled  again.  I  waited  some  time 
for  him  to  finish  his  tune,  doubtful  whether  he  was 
thinking  of  me  at  all,  or  whether  he  whistled  as  a 
means  of  thinking.  At  last  he  ceased  from  his 
music ;  and,  turning  his  clear,  keen  eyes  upon  me, 


THE     WHISTLINO      THINKER.  231 

he  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  as  if  he  would  read 
my  very  soul.  I  tliouglit  lie  was  taking  the  dimen- 
sions of  my  understanding ;  and  concluded,  there- 
fore, to  wail  in  silence  until  he  should  get  his 
measure  fixed.     After  awhile,  he  spoke, — 

"  My  son,  don't  you  think  I  can  defend  the  pro- 
position I  laid  down,  and  convince  you  of  its  truth  ?" 
"No,   sir,   not   if  I  understand   the   proposition 
rightly." 

("  Whew,—)  why  can't  I  ?— (Whew,  whew.") 
"  Because  the  proposition  is  not  true." 
"  Perhaps  it  is  not,"  said  he  ;  "  but  suppose  you 
should  meet  with  a  person  presenting  every  possible 
evidence  of  true  religion  in  his  views,  and  feelings, 
and  conduct,  .year  after  year,  and  yet  that  same 
person  had  never  been  awakened,  never  had  any 
change  in  his  views  and  feelings  respecting  religion, 
as  converts  have,  and  was  not  in  the  least  sensible 
of  having  been  brought  out  of  darkness  into  light 
at  any  time ;  how  would  you  reconcile  that  expe- 
rience with  your  theology  about  human  depravity, 
and  about  regeneration  ?  What  would  you  say  of 
such  a  person,  after  a  sermon  on  original  sin,  or  on 
conversion  ?  How  could  you  say  he  was  '  born 
unholy  and  unclean,'  as  the  Psalm  Book  has  it,  but 
had  turned  to  God  ?" 

"  I  would  say,  sir,  that  God  had  led  him  in  a  way 
that  I  knew  not  of,  perhaps  in  a  way  that  he  knew 


232  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

not  of,  perhaps  had  renewed  his  heart  in  his  infancy, 
perhaps  had  sanctified  him  he/ore  he  was  born,  as  he 
sanctified  John  and  Jeremiah.  But  I  wonld  not 
admit^  that  his  experience  in  religion  could  not  be 
reconciled  with  my  theological  system." 

After  whistling  awhile,  the  old  gentleman  looked 

Tip,— 

"  Who  taught  you  to  interpret  Scripture  ?  I  don't 
believe  Jeremiah,  and  John,  and  Paul,  were  sanc- 
tified before  they  were  born.  God  certainly  could 
have  sanctified  them  then,  and  I  believe  He  does 
sanctify  and  save  infants,' — some  that  never  are 
born ;  but  the  Scriptures  do  not  prove  that  Jere- 
miah and  John  were  sanctified  before  they  came 
into  the  world.  What  God  says  to  the  prophet, 
'  Before  thou  camest  forth  out  of  the  womb,  I  sanc- 
tified thee,  and  ordained  thee  a  prophet,'  no  more 
proves  that  Jeremiah  was  regenerated  before  he  was 
born,  than  it  proves  that  he  was  '  ordained  a  pro- 
phet/ and  preached  before  he  was  born.  The  ex- 
pression has  reference  only  to  God's  predetermina- 
tion, or  election.  The  same  is  the  case  in  respect 
to  John.  As  to  the  rest  which  you  said,  I  agree 
with  all  that.  One  may  be  truly  born  again,  even 
in  infancy." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  "  how  can  your  first  decla- 
ration be  true,  that  some  Christian  experiences  can- 
not be  reconciled  with  a  system  of  theology  ?" 


T II  K    w  u  r  s  T  [,  [  \  c:     r  fi  inker.  233 

Again  lie  whistled  for  a  long  time  ;  tlien  suddenly 
turning  to  me,  as  if  lie  liad  whistled  himself  up  into 
a  thought, — 

"It  is  not  true.  I  supposed  that  you  was  a  Semi- 
nary man,  who  had  got  a  system  of  theology,  with 
one  leg  and  one  crutch,  not  able  to  jump  over  a 
stump,  and  that,  therefore,  you  could  not  reconcile 
your  sj'Stem  with  the  facts  you  met;  and  I  only 
wished  you  to  understand  that  divine  realities  go 
beyond  human  systematizing,  and  if  m.en  will  con- 
fine themselves  to  their  narrow  systems,  the  Holy 
Spirit  will  go  beyond  them.  The  church  has  been 
greatly  injured  by  such  men  at  times.  At  one 
period,  nothing  but  doctrines  will  do ;  and  so  doc- 
trines are  preached,  and  prayed,  and  sung,  till  meta- 
physics have  frozen  piety  to  death.  At  another 
time,  nothing  but  practice  will  do ;  and  then  religion 
soon  degenerates  into  a  lifeless  form,  an  outward 
show,  with  no  great  doctrines  to  put  life  into  the 
soul.  At  one  period,  nothing  but  Eevivals  will  do, 
and  Revival  religion  ;  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  that 
spirit  of  fanaticism,  diffused  by  some  noisy  men  all 
over  the  churches,  a  humble,  faithful  Christian  will 
be  looked  upon  with  contempt,  because  he  was  not 
converted  in  a  Eevival ;  and  a  minister  will  lose 
caste,  if  he  does  not  preach  "  Revival^  Revival^''  all 
the  time.  I  have  seen  this  again  and  again.  The 
church  that  needs  a  minister  will  cry  out,  "  we  want 


234  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

a  Revival  man, — ^nothing  but  a  Revival  man  will  do 
for  usf  and  so  they  choose  for  a  minister  some  proud 
boaster,  who  can  talk  of  "  Revival "  more  than  of 
Christ.  And  another  result  of  this  proud  spirit  is, 
that  when  it  prevails  in  our  churches,  our  people 
by-and-bye  come  to  undervalue  the  common  means 
of  grace,  and  they  become  j)enWica?  Christians;  and 
then  they  undervalue  the  faithful  Christian  educa- 
tion of  their  children ;  they  forget  that  the  God  of 
Abraham  is  still  alive^  and  on  the  throne,  a  covenant- 
keeping  God  ;  they  do  not  expect  religious  education 
in  the  family  to  be  an  effectual  means  of  conversion, 
— ^they  rely  upon  Revivals.  And  it  soon  comes  to 
pass  that  the  Revivals  are  scenes  of  mere  excite- 
ment, delusion,  and  spiritual  pride,' — ^'  stand  aside,  I 
am  holier  than  thou.'  At  another  period,  the  oppo- 
site error  prevails.  Revivals  are  looked  upon  with 
suspicion.  They  are  not  desired  and  prayed  for. 
All  excitement  is  feared.  And  then  religion  will 
run  down  into  formality,  and  peo|)le  will  join  the 
church  when  they  get  old  enough,  or  when  they 
get  to  have  a  family.  There  are  many  truly  pious 
people  who  have  become  such  under  the  influence 
of  example  and  instruction  in  the  family,  and  under 
the  ordinary  Sabbath-preaching,  who  never  could 
give  you  any  special  account, — certainly  not  a  Re- 
vival account  of  their  conversion.  These  would  not 
suit  a  Revival  Christian     And  Revival  converts 


THE     WHISTLING     THINKER.  235 

would  not  suit  them.  But  all  sucli  tilings  are  wrong. 
They  are  the  results  of  narrow  systems." 

Then  he  whistled  again.  But  before  I  could  col- 
lect my  thoughts  for  any  reply,  he  broke  off  from 
his  tune  in  the  middle  of  a  bar, — 

"J.  theological  system^  sir,  every  minister  of  sense, 
will  have.  He  cannot  get  along  without  it.  A  man 
can  no  more  do  witliout  a  system^  than  he  can  do 
without  a  head.  But  what  I  was  after,  is  this: 
there  are  men  of  narrow  views,  linked  to  their  sys- 
tem, and  thinking  their  system  contains  all  that 
religion  contains ;  and  they  would  not  let  anybody 
cast  out  devils  any  more  than  the  disciples  would, 
unless  he  would  do  it  by  their  rule.  These  men 
love  their  system,  and  preach  their  system,  and  live 
in  it,  like  a  worm  in  a  nut,  and  never  get  out  of  it, 
till,  like  such  a  worm,  they  get  wings  to  fly  beyond 
it.  When  death  gives  them  wings  to  fly  to  heaven, 
they  are  out  of  their  jail,  and  not  before.  In  my 
opinion,  Dr.  Woods  is  such  a  man  as  Dr.  Porter 
was  before  him.  Dr.  Taylor  is  such  a  man,  (almost 
as  much  fettered  as  the  rest  of  them.)  Dr.  Alexan- 
der, (one  of  the  ripest  saints,)  is  such  a  man.  Dr. 
Dwight  was  such  a  man.  And  if  you  want  an  in- 
stance of  such  a  man,  whose  fetters  everybody  can 
see,  (and  hear  them  jingle,  too,  at  every  step  he 
takes,)  look  at  Dr.  Emmons,  (poor  fellow !)  These 
are  system  men.     Examine  Dwight's  Hymn  Book. 


236  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

How  narrow  its  range  is !  How  lean  !  It  is  worse 
tlian  one  of  Pharaoh's  lean  heifers !  It  has  just  a 
few  subjects;  and  passes  over  more  than  half  the 
region  of  song,  without  a  single  note.  I  never  could 
be  confined  to  it.  I  would  as  soon  consent  to  be 
confined  to  four  tunes.  Mear,  Old  Hundred,  St. 
Martin's,  and  Durham,  would  do  as  well  for  all  our 
music,  as  Dwight's  Hjmn  Book  for  all  our  poetry. 

"  Now,  my  son,  never  get  into  a  strait-jacket. 
You  will  find  it  pinch.  It  will  make  your  bones 
ache.  Many  a  minister  becomes  more  familiar  with 
his  theological  system  than  he  is  with  his  Bible ; 
and  not  only  so,  but  his  system  stands  first^  and 
when  he  gets  hold  of  a  text,  he  interprets  it  to 
square  with  his  system,  instead  of  paring  and  whit- 
ling  off  his  system  to  make  it  agree  with  the  text ; 
and  among  his  pastoral  duties,  he  sticks  to  his  Gal- 
vanism more  than  he  sticks  to  Christ ;  and  he  would 
pray  his  system  too,  if  the  Holy  Spirit  didn't  make 
his  prayers  for  him.  And  in  this  way  he  systems 
his  Bible  into  a  corner,  and  his  own  soul  into  a  nut- 
shell. Never  do  that,  in  the  pidpit  or  among  the 
people.  '  Preach  the  Word' — the  Word,  my  son, — 
THE  Word  !  Are  you  a  Calvinist  ?"  said  he,  gen- 
tly, after  speaking  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  Then  don't  be  afraid  of  an  Arminian  text :  don't 
dodge,  when  you  come  across  one.     Out  ivith  it;  it 


THK     WHISTLING      THINKER.  237 

is  God's  textj  and  he  don't  want  you  to  mince  it. 
Are  you  a  Seminary  boy  ?" 

''No,  sir." 

"  Down  on  your  Icnees^  and  thank  God  for  it." 

"I  have  thanked  Him,  sir,  a  hundred  times." 

"You'll  thank  Him  ten  thousand,  if  you  live  to 
my  age." 

"  Are  you  opposed  to  what  is  called  Calvinism  ?" 
I  asked. 

"  By  no  means.  I  am  a  Calvinist.  But  I  let  the 
Bible  make  my  Calvinism,  instead  of  bringing  my 
Calvinism  to  make  Bible ;  and  I  claim  the  liberty 
of  going  along  with  my  Bible,  into  a  thousand  cor- 
ners beyond  the  limits  of  the  system." 

"  You  mentioned  Dr.  Taylor,  with  a  sort  of 
doubtful  compliment  about  his  being  fettered ;  some 
ministers  in  my  neighborhood  have  talked  to  me  a 
great  deal  about  Dr.  Taylor.  Let  me  ask  whether 
you  regard  him  as  heretical  ?" 

"  No !  /  don't.  But  Dr.  Taylor  has  committed  the 
Connecticut  sin!  He  is  guilty  of  thinking^  sir,  of 
thinking ;  and  for  that  reason,  some  people  over  in 
Jersey  and  Pennsylvania,  and  some  in  York  State, 
count  him  a  half  heretic.  But  he  only  thinlcs,  sir, 
that's  all :  and  thinking  is  his  original  sin,  and  ac- 
tual transgression  too.  Now,  don't  join  in  and  cry 
^mad  dog^  about  Dr.  Taylor.  Wait^  till  you  are 
sure  you  see  the  froth.     His  hoys  don't  understand 


238  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

him.  Dr.  Taylor  isn't  a  Taylorite.  Far  from  it,  sir. 
His  hoys  are  Taylorites,  but  he  isn't.  I  have  had 
long  talks  with  a  whole  score  of  ministers  educated 
under  him,  and  I  know  that  not  one  Taylorite  among 
them  understands  Dr.  Taylor's  scheme." 

"  What  is  his  scheme,  sir?" 

"  His  scheme  of  doctrine  is  John  Calvin's,  or  John 
Howe's,  or  Edwards',  substantially :  his  scheme  of 
philosophy  is  his  own^  and  no  honor  to  him.  Why, 
sir,  he  believes  in  original  sin,  and  in  the  special 
influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  (whether  his  boys  do 
or  not,)  as  much  as  you  or  I  do.  He  wouldn't  use 
my  lingo^  or,  as  he  would  express  it,  '  ter-mo-nol- 
0-GY,'  because  he  must  have  a  word  as  long  as  Yale 
College^  to  suit  '  the  appropriate  circumstances  of 
his  being  ;'  but  he  preaches  the  same  doctrines  that 
I  do.  He  is  sound  at  the  core.  (I  don't  like  his 
philosophy^  But  you  get  into  2,fight^  and  Dr.  Tay- 
lor will  be  one  of  the  best  hackers  you  could  have. 
He  thinltsP 

"  You  mentioned  several  men,  sir,"  said  I,  ''  whose 
praise  is  in  all  the  churches  ;  but  I  do  not  exactly 
understand  in  what  rank  you  mean  to  place  them. 
Do  you  mean  to  speak  of  Dwight,  and  Taylor, 
and  Alexander,  and  Emmons,  as  men  of  little 
mind  ?" 

"  Not  little^  my  son ;  not  little  ;  but  limited^  narrow. 
Every  one  of  them  is  more  or  less  entangled  with  a 


THE     WHISTLING     THINKER.  239 

system.  Dr.  Taylor  came  nearer  to  be  a  free  man 
tlian  any  of  tlie  rest  of  them,  wlien  lie  was  young. 
He  flung  off  the  system  fetters  nobly ;  but,  like  a 
goose^  he  went  to  work  and  hammered  out  a  pair  of 
his  own,  and  they  have  galled  liim  worse  than  the 
old  ones  would.  The  old  ones  had  been  used  and 
got  smooth — the  rust  worn  off.  These  men  are  great 
men,  very  great  men.  They  are  good  men  ;  men  of 
truth  and  faith  and  devoted  godliness.  They  are 
safe  men,  to  teach  }'ou  on  all  the  fundamental  points. 
I  should  count  you  a  heretic,  and  would  not  ask 
you  to  preach  for  me,  if  you  did  not  agree  with 
them  on  all  the  fundamentals  ;  not  because  you  dis- 
agreed with  them,,  but  because,  disagreeing  with  them, 
I  should  know  you  disagreed  with  the  Bible.  My 
complaint  about  them  is  two-fold  ;  first^  they  let  their 
system  limit  their  scope  and  range  ;  and  second^  they 
put  their  system  ybre?7?os^  in  all  religion." 

"  Well,  sir,  do  you  object  to  theological  systems, 
catechisms,  and  confessions  of  Faith  ?" 

"  No^  no  F  said  he,  impatiently.  "  I  thought  you 
could  understand  me !  I  am  no  opponent  of  con- 
fessions of  faith.  If  a  man  tells  you  he  will  have 
no  creed  or  confession  to  stick  to,  ('  nothing  but  the 
Bible,')  set  him  Sown  for  a  heretic  or  an  idiot,  or 
both.  He  has  a  creed  if  he  is  a  Christian  at  all. 
And  he  will  stick  to  it,  if  he  walks  in  the  Spirit, 
whether  he  is  in  the  pulpit  or  in  society.     Yes  sir ; 


240  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

he  has  a  creed,  if  he  is  not  a  downright  fool  I  In- 
deed, my  young  friend,  our  greatest  danger  at  the 
present  moment,  throughout  the  whole  of  New  Eng- 
land, hes  just  here  ;  we  have  too  much  shortened  our 
creeds,  and  forgotten  our  confessions,  and  ceased  to 
preach  the  great  doctrines.  The  doctrines  are  the 
great  things  after  all.  One  of  our  prominent  men, 
now  preaching  in  the  capital  of  our  State,  courts 
popularity  by  an  occasional  sneer  at  '  old,  dead  or- 
thodoxy,' as  he  calls  it.  He  is  doing  injury  to  the 
cause  of  truth.  The  seeds  of  error  which  he  is  sow- 
ing will  spring  up  by-and-bye.  If  he  does  not 
become  a  heretic  himself,  his  admirers  and  followers 
will.  He  does  not  believe  the  Westminster  Con- 
fession of  Faith,  in  my  opinion ;  and,  if  that  was  a 
standard  now  among  our  churches  and  ministers,  as 
it  was  once,  when  the  Catechism  was  taught  in  all 
our  schools,  we  should  not  have  so  many  creedless 
ministers  among  us,  ignorantly  working  to  under- 
mine the  great  principles  of  the  Eeformation,  by 
sneering  at  'old,  dead  orthodoxy,'  like  the  Eev. 

Dr. .     They  hate  the  doctrines^  sir.     So  you  see 

I  am  not  against  systems  and  creeds ;  but  I  want  a 
minister  to  have  a  creed^  and  a  heart  too.  I  want 
him  to  have  a  system ;  and  then  I  want  him  to 
know  that  his  system  does  not  contain  everything^  and 
that  he  himself  does  not  know  everything.  The 
Bible  has  a  depth,  and  a  richness,  and  an  extent  too, 


THE     WHISTLING     THINKER.  241 

in  its  meaning,  which  no  human  system  can  express, 
Preach  your  text  my  boy,  your  text,  rigid  out,  and 
not  your  system." 

The  old  man  had  waxed  quite  warm.  He  forgot 
to  whistle,  or  look  out  at  the  window.  I  liked  to 
hear  him  talk,  and  I  was  not  disposed  to  have  him 
think  me  quite  such  a  novice  as  his  manner  towards 
me  (though  he  was  kind),  seemed  to  indicate  that 
he  did.     So  I  replied,' — 

"Perhaps  I  do  understand  you,  sir,  more  fully 
than  you  give  me  credit  for.  But  when  you  say, 
*  if  I  live  to  preach  many  years,  and  become  much 
acquainted  with  people,  I  shall  find  some  Christians 
whose  experience  cannot  be  reconciled  with  a  Theo- 
logical system,'  I  must  still  beg  leave  to  say  I  do 
not  believe  it." 

^^  I  took  that  back,^^  said  he  instantly.  "I  said 
that  on  the  supposition  that  you  were  a  Seminary 
man,  cut  to  the  length  of  the  bedstead,  and  foolishly 
making  your  system  everything." 

"  But,  sir,  you  supposed  a  case  of  inexplicable 
conversion,  and  asked  me  how  I  could  reconcile  it 
with  my  Theological  system." 

"  So  I  did  ;  but  I  thought  then  yoM  were  a  Revi- 
valist, and  I  v/anted  to  trip  up  your  heels,  so  that 
you  might  pick  yourself  up  and  plant  yourself  on 
firm  ground,  and  not  think  that  all  rehgion  must 
work  exactly  according  to  your  Revival  mode.  I 
11 


242  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

told  yon  that  I  agreed  to  all  you  said  about  that  sup- 
posed case." 

"  Perhaps  you  did,  sir ;  but  you  afterwards  said 
Hhe  Holy  Ghost  will  go  beyond  systems;'  while  I 
maintain  that  as  certainly  as  my  system  is  true^  hu- 
man experience  in  religion  will  neither  contradict 
my  system  nor  go  beyond  it." 

"  I  meant  to  take  that  back,  my  son,  I  take  it 
back  now  ;  if  you  are  not  a  Seminary  man  or  a  Re- 
vivalist, or  mounted  on  some  other  limping  hobby. 
I  only  employed  an  expression  to  set  you  thinking. 
Mark  me ;  I  am  not  opposed  to  Theological  Semina- 
ries or  to  Revivals,  I  am  only  opposed  to  the  inju- 
ries and  abuses  that  grow  out  of  them.  If  ministers 
and  their  people  come  to  think  that  nothing  but  Re- 
vival will  do,  or  nothing  but  a  Seminary  system 
will  do ;  trae  religion  will  soon  be  eclipsed,  either  by 
fanaticism  or  bigotry, — and  I  want  you  to  think 
about  it.  If  Theological  Seminaries  would  learn 
their  place,  and  learn  to  keep  it,  they  would  do  good. 
They  may  be  good  servants  of  the  church,  but  they 
will  be  very  bad  masters  of  it.  They  want  to  be 
masters.  Such  is  human  nature.  The  church  would 
do  well  to  watch  them.  Cambridge  is  a  beacon  in 
my  eye.  The  seeds  of  heresy  and  fanaticism  are 
now  sown  thick,  by  those  men  who  seek  popularity 
by  crying  out '  Revival^  Bevivaly  and  Seminary,  Semi- 


THK     WIIISTLINQ     THINKER.  243 

nary.'  I  am  disgusted  with  their  pride  and  their 
popularity -hunting." 

The  old  man  turned  to  the  window  again,  and 
struck  up  another  tune  in  a  sort  of  low,  whispering 
whistle.  But  befbre  I  had  mustered  my  thoughts 
enough  to  know  what  to  reply,  he  suddenly  turned 
to  me,  solemnly, — 

"  Now  we  have  come  here  to  preach  in  a  Revival. 
The  Revival  is  God's  work,  and  I  rejoice  in  it.  The 
converts  here  will  apj^ear  very  much  alike ;  but  let 
us  not  tliink  that  all  other  true  converts  must  ap- 
pear just  so  too,  in  their  awakening,  and  repentance, 
and  hope.  There  are  many  persons,  (especially 
those  who  have  had  a  careful  Christian  education, 
and  have  always  been  under  the  influences  of  Chris- 
tian truth  and  example,)  who  come  to  be  true  Chris- 
tians, and  nobody  can  tell  when  they  were  converted, 
— they  can't  tell  themselves.  The  Holy  Spirit  has 
led  them  gently  and  softly  along.  We  can  judge 
of  them  by  their  fruits,  by  their  attachment  to  the 
great  doctrines  of  truth,  and  their  life  of  faith.  We 
must  not  judge  of  them  by  the  way  in  which  they 
were  converted.  In  all  the  substantial  parts  of  re- 
ligion, all  true  converts  will  be  much  alike.  Their 
faith  will  be  the  same,  their  repentance  the  same, 
their  rehance  on  Christ  the  same ;  and  they  will  all 
hold  substantially  the  same  great  doctrines, — (in 
their  hearts^  whether  they  do  in  their  heads  or  not,) 


244  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

because  it  is  by  these  doctrines,  law  to  condemn, 
and  grace  to  deliver,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  moulds 
hearts.  He  moulds  them  alike.  And  for  that  rea- 
son I  say  that  the  doctrines^  sir,  the  doctrines  are  our 
tools  first,  and  our  tests  afterward.  The  Doctrines 
are  the  best  Revival  sermons, — mind,  the  hest. 
Nettleton  always  preaches  them.  But  we  must  not 
expect  all  our  people  who  are  converted,  to  feel 
them  alike  suddenly,  or  alike  deeply  : — 

'  God  moves  ia  a  mysterious  way, 
His  wonders  to  perform.' 

But  it  is  God  who  performs  the  wonders ;  and  He 
performs  them  through  His  own  truth.  I  am  willing 
that  He  should  use  the  truth  suddenly  or  slowly, 
and  convert  a  man  as  He  converted  Paul,  or  as  He 
converted  John." 

"  That  is  a  part  of  my  theological  system,  sir," 
said  I. 

"  Then  you  and  I  agree,"  said  he,  with  a  smile. 
"  You  are  not  hood- winked  or  trammelled  with  a 
Seminary  system  or  a  Revival  system.  I  perceive 
you  think  ;  and  that  makes  me  like  you." 

Turning  again  to  the  window,  he  struck  up  an- 
other tune,  as  his  eye  wandered  over  the  valleys  and 
the  distant  mountains  of  blue.  Whistling  seemed 
to  be  as  natural  to  him  as  breathing.  He  appeared 
to  whistle  up  his  thoughts.     And  again,  before  I 


THE     WHISTLING      T  H  I  N  K  R  R  245 

had  time  to  contrive  wliat  to  say,  he  turned  to 
me, — 

"  Generations  have  their  fashions,  their  foibles,  as 
much  as  women  about  their  dress.  Seminaries  and 
Eevivals  are  the  fashion  of  our  age  and  country. 
These  things  have  their  advantages,  but  they  have 
their  disadvantages  also.  The  two  great  dangers  of 
the  church  in  our  day  are  these  : — the  church  must 
have  no  ministers  but  Seminary  ministers,  and  no 
religion  but  Kevival  religion.  Both  these  exclusive 
preferences  are  wrong ^  foolish,  and  short-sighted. 
They  do,  indeed,  partly  balance  each  other  ;  and  so 
our  Seminary  ministers  do  not  become  altogether 
hook  ministers, — theorizing,  speculative,  and  heart- 
less as  metaphysics ;  and  our  Kevival  ministers  do 
not  all  become  fanatics,  with  a  bad  heart,  and  no 
head.  But  the  time  will  come,  if  God  has  good 
things  in  store  for  us,  when  the  church  will  again 
welcome  ministers  who  have  never  seen  a  public 
Seminary,  and  will  welcome  converts  who  do  not 
tell  a  stereotyped  story  about  their  Eevival  conversion. 
These  two  hobbies  of  the  age  will  get  old  and  worn 
out  by-and-bye  ;  and  then  the  church  will  be  wiser 
than  she  is  now.  These  hobbies  have  worked  well ; 
but  the  Seminary  hobby  is  very  stiff  in  the  joints, 
and  the  Revival  hobby  has  had  his  wind  injured." 

"  To  hear  you  talk,"  said  I,  "  one  would  think 
you  believed  in  a  gradual  regeneration." 


246  THE     WHISTLING     THINKER. 

"I  believe,"  said  he,  "in  instantaneous  regenera- 
tion in  all  cases.  But  I  do  not,  on  that  account, 
maintain  that  every  regenerated  sinner  must  be  able 
to  tell  when  he  was  regenerated.  He  may  not  know 
when,  and  never  know  till  the  day  of  judgment. 
But,  in  my  opinion,  he  will  know  who  regenerated 
him.  I  have  very  much  ceased  to  ash  persons 
whom  I  examine  for  reception  into  the  church, 
when  they  became  religious,  or  how  their  minds 
were  affected.  Principles  are  a  far  better  test  than 
mere  emotions.  They  are  more  reliable^  and  more 
ascertainable  too.  My  way  now  is,  to  inquire  about 
their  views  of  doctrine^  of  truth^  and  about  some  of 
their  religious  feelings  at  the  'present  time.  In  my 
opinion,  many  a  true  child  of  God  is  afraid  to  come 
to  Grod's  table,  and  is  kept  away,  simply  because  he 
cannot  tell  such  an  experience  as  he  has  heard  of  in 
others,  and  as  he  has  been  led  to  think  universal 
with  all  true  converts.  He  has  had  none  of  that 
hlazing  experience,  (which  I  call  comet  religion^  be- 
cause nobody  can  tell  where  it  comes  from,  or 
where  it  goes'to,  or  what  it  is  good  for,)  because  he 
has  been  led  gently  to  Christ,  following  the  still, 
small  voice,  and  does  not  know  when  or  how  he 
begun  to  trust  Him, — only^  that  God  has  led  him, 
as  he  never  would  have  gone  of  himself.  He  has 
had  principle,  and  conscience,  and  purpose,  and 
faith,  but  not  tumultuous  and  whirlwind  emotion. 


THE     WHISTLING     THINKER.  24T 

And,  as  I  said  before,  in  my  opinion,  there  are 
many  true  Christians,  who  have  been  well  taught 
from  their  youth,  that  never  can  tell  when  they 
turned  to  God ;  and  if  they  attempt  to  fix  on  the 
day  of  the  month,  tlicy  will  fix  it  wrong^ — some,  too 
soon,  and  many,  too  late." 

"  You  spoke  a  little  while  since  of  mere  excite- 
ments, fanaticism,  and  heresy,  sir.  I  have  a  special 
reason  for  asking  you,  what  is  the  fit  mode  of  coun- 
teracting such  evils?" 

Instantly,  he  replied,  with  slow  and  measured 
words, — 

"Preach  on  the  character  of  God.  Then,  on  the  de- 
pravity of  man.  Then,  on  the  nature  ofholiiiess.  Then, 
on  secret  prayer  !  All  fanatics  have  got  a  new  God ! 
My  boy,  I  want  you  to  take  notice  (put  an  N.  B.  to 
it,  in  your  memory,)  how  the  Bible  in  order  to  tear 
up  error  by  the  roots,  brings  up  GoD  Himself,  and 
tells  what  He  is.  The  old  prophets  do  it,  all 
through :  '  Thus  saith  the  Lord  God  :  besides  Me 
there  is  none  else:  /change  not:  holy,  holy,  holy, 
is  the  Lord.'  The  Apostles  do  it.  Paul  is  full  of 
it.  He  employed  it  on  Mars'  Hill,  to  convert  the 
Athenian  philosophers :  lie  vised  it  to  knock  over 
those  who  doubted  about  the  resurrection ;  '  thou 
fool  J  says  he,  '  God  giveth  it  a  body !'  Peter  used 
it ;  '  one  day  with  the  Lord  is  as  a  thousand  j^ears !' 
All  the  Divine  writers  have  it.     It  is  their  familiar 


THE     WHISTLING     THINKER.  248 

thunder  and  lightning ;  and  I  advise  you  to  borrow 
a  little  of  it.  It  will  purify  the  atmosphere  all 
around  you."* 

In  very  much  this  strain,  my  aged  counsellor 
went  on  for  an  hour, — ^relieved  only  by  a  whistling 
interlude;  and  sometimes,  after  a  pause,  roused 
again  to  utter  some  great  truth,  by  some  question 
which  I  ventured  to  ask  him.  He  was  full  of 
thought.  I  have  never  listened  to  a  man  of  more 
independent  mind,  or  whose  conversation  was  more 
rich  in  suggestions.  He  thought  deeply  and  care- 
fully, though  perhaps  many  wise  men  would  be 
slow  to  adopt  all  his  opinions  about  men  or  about 
things. 

My  interview  with  him  was  of  great  use  to  me. 
He  put  me  to  tliinhing^  which,  he  said,  was  "  all 
that  he  aimed  at." 

Years  afterwards,  I  was  forcibly  reminded  of  him, 
by  a  case  which  I  am  about  to  relate,  and  which  I 
have  here,  in  the  following  sketch,  denominated 
Unconscious  Conversion. 

*  When  the  Rev,  Mr.  Backus  was  ordained  successor  to  Dr. 
Bellamy,  in  1791,  there  was  an  aged,  pious  negro,  belonging  to  the 
church.  Soon  after  Mr.  Backus'  ordination,  some  one  asked  this 
negro  how  he  liked  Mr.  Backus,  whether  he  thought  him  equal  to 
Dr.  Bellamy.  His  reply  was :  "  Like  Master  Backus  very  much- 
great  man — good  minister,  but  not  equal  to  Master  Bellamy. 
Master  Backus  make  God  big,  but  Master  Bellamy  make  God  bigger." 


In  the  discharge  of  pastoral  duty  I  have  never 
been  more  deeply  interested  or  more  perplexed,  than 
I  was  in  the  case  of  a  very  affectionate  and  intelli- 
gent woman,  whom  I  knew  with  great  intimacy  for 
several  years.  She  was  a  married  woman  before  I 
became  acquainted  with  her.  She  Avas  young 
in  life,  I  suppose  not  more  than  twenty-five, 
and  her  husband  was  probably  about  thirty — not  a 
religious  man.  I  visited  her  as  her  pastor,  soon 
after  she  had  removed  from  another  part  of  the 
country,  and  taken  up  her  residence  in  the  place 
where  I  lived.  I  was  much  pleased  with  her.  She 
was  a  woman  of  refined  manners,  of  excellent  sense, 
of  trained  mind,  of  gentle  and  affectionate  disposi- 
tion, but  withal  of  unusual  firmness,  having  a  mind 
and  a  heart  of  her  own.  Few  women,  as  I  believe, 
have  ever  adorned  their  station  more  than  she 
adorned  hers.  As  a  wife,  mother,  friend ;  as  a  neigh- 
bor, as  a  daughter,  (for  I  became  acquainted  with 
her  parents  and  knew  her  demeanor  towards  them,) 
she  was  a  pattern  of  propriety.  A  stranger  to  her 
11* 


250  UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION. 

miglit  liave  deemed  lier  manner  somewhat  reserved 
and  cold,  (as  indeed  it  was  to  strangers,)  for  there 
was  no  forwardness  about  her.  She  was  modest, 
unassuming,  unobtrusive.  But  her  reserve  wore  off 
by  acquaintance;  and  though  she  never  became 
imprudent,  and  never  lost  a  just  sense  of  a  woman's 
dignity,  she  became  peculiarly  confiding  and  com- 
panionable. However,  she  was  rather  taciturn  than 
talkative.  Like  a  woman  of  sense,  she  took  care 
whom  she  trusted,  and  what  she  said. 

But  there  was  a  shade  of  melancholy  which  seemed 
to  hang  around  her,  quite  noticeable  to  a  keen  ob- 
server, and  yet  not  so  distinct  as  to  be  visible,  per- 
haps, to  most  of  her  acquaintance.  Her  half  pensive 
look  gave  an  additional  interest  to  her  intelligent 
countenance,  (which  had  no  small  claims  to  be  de- 
nominated beautiful,)  and  indeed  there  seemed  to 
be  a  cast  of  sadness  thrown  over  the  very  move- 
ments of  her  tall  and  graceful  figure. 

When  I  first  became  acquainted  with  her,  I  noticed 
this  tender  melancholy  which  hung  around  her  like 
the  shadow  of  a  cloud ;  and  I  supposed  that  the 
twilight  of  some  afiiiction  still  lingered  around  her 
heart,  or  that  some  secret  grief  was  buried  deep  in 
her  own  bosom.  After  a  more  intimate  acquaintance 
with  her,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  some 
trial  of  which  she  never  spoke,  but  which  preyed  in 
secret  upon  her  heart.     I  thought  her  appearance 


UNCONSCIOUS     C  O  N  V  E  11 S  I  O  N  .  251 

indicative  of  a  concealed  grief,  which,  like  a  worm 
in  the  bud,  was  preying  upon  her  life. 

On  account  of  this  opinion,  I  aimed  to  mention 
the  subject  of  religion  to  her,  in  the  most  delicate 
and  affectionate  manner  possible.  I  called  upon  her 
for  that  purpose.  I  found  her  alone.  After  a  few 
moments  of  conversation  I  said  to  her, — 

"  I  have  several  times  mentioned  the  subject  of 

religion  to  you,   Mrs.  C ,  but  you   have   been 

quite  reserved ;  and  I  have  called  upon  you  to-day  to 
converse  with  you  upon  that  subject,  if  you  will 
allow  me  such  a  favor." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir." 

'*  Allow  me  to  ask  you  whether  you  are  a  member 
of  the  church  ?" 

"  No  sir,  I  am  not." 

"  And  do  you  think  you  are  still  living  in  unbe- 
lief, after  all  your  opportunities  ?" 

"  I  suppose,  sir,  I  have  no  reason  to  think  I  am  a 
Christian,"  said  she,  with  a  look  of  mingled  solem- 
nity and  sorrow\ 

''  Is  it  wise  for  you  to  neglect  your  salvation  ?" 

"  I  know  it  is  not  wise,  sir.  My  own  heart  con- 
demns me,"  said  she  with  much  emotion. 

"  Then,  madam,  do  not  neglect  it  any  longer. 
The  favor  of  God  is  within  your  reach.  He  calls  to 
you  in  His  gracious  kindness,  and  invites  you  to 
turn  to  Him  for  pardon  and  peace,  freely  offered  to 


252  UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION. 

you  through  the  great  Eedeemer  of  sinners.  But 
how  comes  it  about,  Mrs.  C ,  that  you  have  neg- 
lected salvation  so  long?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  indeed,  sir.  I  suppose  I  have 
been  too  worldly,  and  too  much  led  away  by  my 
own  heart,  though  I  have  thought  about  religion  a 
great  deal  all  my  life." 

"  I  suppose  so  too.  And  I  hiow  you  ought,  in- 
stantly, to  '  deny  yourself,  and  take  up  your  cross 
and  follow  Jesus  Christ,'  and  not  suffer  your  heart 
to  be  led  away  any  longer." 

She  was  much  affected.  I  asked  her  some  ques- 
tions which  she  did  not  answer,  because  (as  I  then 
supposed),  of  a  conflict  in  her  own  mind,  betwixt  a 
sense  of  duty  and  the  love  of  the  world.  I  there- 
fore urged  her  as  solemnly  and  affectionately  as  I 
could,  to  give  her  attention  to  religion  without  delay, 
and  left  her. 

Again  I  called  to  see  her.     I  inquired, — 
"  Have  you  been  giving  your  attention  to  religion 
since  I  saw  you  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  very  often,  sir." 
*'  And  have  you  prayed  about  it  very  often  ?" 
"  I  have  tried  to  pray,"  said  she  sadly ;  "  but  I  do 
not  know  as  it  was  true  prayer." 

"  Do  you  feel  your  need  of  God's  blessing,  as  an 
undone  sinner,  condemned  by  the  law  of  God,  and 
having  ?  wicked  heart?" 


UNCONSCIOUS  CONVERSION.         253 

"  Sometimes  I  tlnnh  I  feel  it ;  but  I  suppose  I  do 
not  feel  it  as  niucli  as  I  ought  to." 

*'  Do  you  feel  that  you  need  Christ  to  save  you  ?" 

"  I  hiow  it,  sir ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  feel  it. 
My  heart  seems  hard,  very  hard ;  I  wonder  at  my- 
self, m}^  stupid  self" 

"  It  must  be  a  very  senseless  or  stupid  heart,  my 
dear  friend,  if  it  cannot  feel  the  most  solemn  matter, 
save  one,  in  all  the  universe.  Nothing  short  of  per- 
dition itself,  can  be  a  more  affecting  and  solemn 
thinof,  than  to  be  an  undone  sinner  without  Christ 
to  save  you  I" 

"I  am  ver}^  sensible  of  my  stupidity.  I  have 
often  wondered  at  myself  I  have  tried  to  feel, 
but " 

She  was  overcome  by  this  thought,  and  could  not 
finish  the  sentence.  She  wept  bitterly,  though  she 
evidently  strove  hard  to  control  her  emotions.  "  Par- 
don my  infirmity,  sir,"  said  she.  "  I  do  not  know 
why  it  is,  but  I  cannot  restrain  my  feelings.  I  hope 
you  will  not  think  me  quite  a  child." 

I  assured  her  of  my  entire  respect  for  her,  and  my 
attachment  to  her  as  a  friend  ;  tliat  I  was  unwilling 
to  say  one  word  to  make  her  unhappy,  but  that  I 
wanted  her  attention  to  a  happiness  unequalled  and 
everlasting. 

"  I  know  it,  sir,  I  know  it ;  and  I  thank  you  for 
all  your  kindness  to  me,"  said  she  with  tears. 


254  UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION. 

I  besoTiglit  her  to  "  come  freelj,  and  affectionately, 
and  fully  to  Christ,  without  any  distrust  and  with- 
out any  delay,  because  salvation  is  by  free  grace. 

Afterwards  I  had  several  interviews  with  her,  in 
all  of  which  she  was  solemn  and  much  affected,  but 
ordinarily  her  words  were  few.  I  told  her  from 
time  to  time  the  same  truths,  which  I  was  accus- 
tomed to  urge  upon  the  attention  of  other  anxious  in- 
quirers. I  referred  her  to  the  same  texts,  the  same 
promises,  the  same  cautions  and  directions.  Months 
passed  on  in  this  way,  and  still  she  found  no  peace 
of  mind,  no  hope.  She  did  not  come  out  of  her 
darkness  into  the  light  of  faith,  as  I  had  so  long  and 
so  confidently  expected ;  nor  did  she  become  any 
less  solemn  or  less  studious  or  less  tender  in  feeling, 
as  latterly  I  had  so  much  feared.  Indeed,  at  al- 
most every  interview  I  had  with  her,  she  would  be 
melted  into  tears  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts ;  and  then 
she  would  beg  me  to  "  pardon  her  weakness,"  as  she 
called  it,  and  apologizing  for  her  emotions,  she 
would  say, — "I  would  not  afflict  you  with  these 
tears  if  I  could  help  it.  I  know  it  must  be  painful 
to  you  to  see  me  affected  in  this  manner,  after  all 
you  have  done  for  me  ;  and  I  feel  that  my  state  of 
mind  is  but  a  poor  return  for  your  kindness.  But 
I  assure  you,  my  dear  Pastor,  I  am  not  ungrateful 
to  you,  if  I  am  unhajipy." 

I  soothed  and  comforted  her  all  in  my  power, 


UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION.  256 

with  the  promises  of  God,  and  encouragements  to 
trust  in  Ilim.  I  reasoned  with  her,  and  aimed  to 
reach  her  conscience,  and  win  her  heart  to  the  love 
of  Christ.  Again  and  again  I  taught  her  all  God's 
truth,  which  I  thought  adapted  to  lier  state  of  mind. 
She  heard  it  all  attentively,  kindly,  and,  as  I  some- 
times thought,  gladly.  She  never  uttered  an  objec- 
tion, complaint,  or  excuse.  I  confidently  believed, 
as  she  continued  to  seek  the  Lord  so  assiduously, 
she  would  soon  find  peace,  or  be  left  to  return  to 
indifference.  But  it  was  not  so  with  her.  Through 
many  months  she  continued,  so  far  as  /  could  see, 
in  the  same  state, — solemn,  tender,  prayerfiil  ordi- 
narily, but  uncomforted. 

Her  condition  perplexed  me,  and  very  much 
grieved  me.  I  had  become  greatly  attached  to  her 
as  a  friend,  and  I  believe  she  respected  and  loved 
me  as  her  minister ;  and  I  could  feel  no  reconcilia- 
tion to  the  idea  that  she  should  continue  in  this 
unhappy  condition.  I  blamed  myself  very  much, 
for  I  supposed  I  must  have  failed  to  instruct  her 
appropriately,  even  though  she  was  desirous  to  be 
taught, — perhaps  had  not  sufficiently  explained  the 
way  of  salvation,  insisting  upon  those  great  doc- 
trines of  truth,  th*rough  which  the  Holy  Spirit  leads 
sinners  to  repentance.  Consequently  I  called  upon 
her  again,  resolved  to  probe  her  heart,  and,  after 
some  little  conversation,  inquired  of  her, — 


256  UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION. 

"  Have  you  yet  found  your  heart  at  peace  with. 
God?" 

"  No  sir,  I  am  not  at  peace, — ^I  am  far  from  it." 

"  Do  you  still  remain  in  the  same  state  of  mind 
that  you  have  been  in  so  long  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  siiy,  sir,  that  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  new  about  myself, — nothing  different  from 
what  I  have  told  you  before." 

*'  And  certainly,  madam,  I  can  tell  you  nothing- 
new, — can  preach  no  new  gospel,  can  tell  you 
nothing  different  from  what  I  have  told  you  before. 
If  you  do  not  obey  the  gospel,  nothing  can  save 
you.  The  gospel  will  not  change.  You  must 
change.  The  gospel  offers  Christ  to  you,  to  en- 
lighten you,  to  atone  for  you,  to  defend  you  from 
every  danger.  And  since  this  offer  is  so  free,  and 
so  kind,  and  so  appropriate,  and  is  made  in  the  in- 
finite sincerity  of  God,  what  hinders  3^ou  that  you 
do  not  accept  it,  and  trust  your  Saviour  humbly, 
penitently,  gladly?" 

"  I  wish,  sir,  I  could  tell  what  hinders,"  said  she, 
sadly. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  I,  "  have  you  ever  really 
felt,  and  do  you  feel  now,  that  you  are  an  undone 
sinner,  and  have  infinite  need  of  Christ  to  save 
you?" 

"  Yes  sir,  I  think  I  do.  I  never  have  had  any 
doubt  of  that.     I  know  I  am  undone,  and  I  know  I 


UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION.  257 

need  Christ;  but  perhaps  I  do  not  feel  it  as  I 
should." 

"  Do  you  want  to  feel  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  /  c?o,"  said  she,  with  some  diffi- 
culty, and  burst  into  tears.  *'I  have  prayed  a  great 
many  times  to  be  enabled  to  feel  it  more,  if  that  is 
what  I  lack." 

"  Allow  me  to  ask  you.  if  you  have  ever  been 
fully  convinced  that  you  have  by  nature  an  evil 
heart,  depraved,  '  deceitful  above  all  things,  and  des- 
perately wicked  ?' " 

"  Yes  sir ;  I  know  I  have.  I  cannot  conceive 
how  anybody  can  doubt  that,  after  examining  him- 
self at  all.  Perhaps  I  am  worse  than  I  suppose,  or 
I  should  not  continue  in  this  sad  state.  I  am  fully 
sensible  there  is  nothing  in  myself  but  sin." 

"  And  do  you  think  you  can  make  your  heart 
any  better  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  can  do  nothing  for  myself  Certain- 
ly, I  ought  to  be  convinced  of  that  by  this  time." 

"  Are  you  fully  sensible  that  nothing  but  the 
Holy  Spirit  can  meet  the  necessities  of  your  poor 
heart,  and  bring  you.  to  Christ  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  long  felt  it.  I  am  sure  I  ought  to 
know  that,  for  I  have  tried  often  enough  of  myself 
to  turn  to  God,  and  my  heart  is  still  the  same." 

"  Why  don't  you  give  that  heart  to  God,  and 


258  UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION. 

trust  Him  to  renew  it  and  control  it,  since  you  find 
all  your  own  efforts  vain  ?" 

"  I  liave  often  tried  to  do  so,  but  it  seems  to  be  all 
useless." 

"  Do  you  constantly  pray  for  Divine  assistance  ?" 

''  I  have  always  been  accustomed  to  pray,  in  my 
poor  way.  At  times  I  have  neglected  prayer  for  a 
little  while,  when  I  thought  it  did  no  good,  and  was 
afraid  I  should  rely  too  much  upon  the  mere  act  of 
praying,  and  when  I  have  thought  God  would  not 
accept  such  prayers  as  mine.  But  I  do  not  often 
neglect  daily  prayer." 

"  Do  you  seek  the  Lord  with  all  your  heart  ?" 

"  I  suppose  not,  sir  ;  for  if  I  did  I  should  not  re- 
main in  this  miserable  condition.  I  try^  but  it  seems 
I  fail." 

"Do  you  rely  upon  any  righteousness  of  your 
own  to  save  you,  or  commend  you  to  Christ  ?" 

"  I  have  no  righteousness.  I  know  very  well 
there  is  nothing  in  me  but  sin  and  misery." 

"Do  you  try  to  make  a  righteousness  out  of  re- 
pentance, or  humiliation,  or  faith,  and  thus  expect 
your  religion  to  commend  you  to  the  Saviour  ?  Sin- 
ners sometimes  seek  religion^  and  think  they  must. 
But  the  Bible  never  tells  them  to  seek  religion — ^it 
tells  them  to  '  seek  the  LordJ  And  when  they  seek 
religion^  in  order  to  have  their  religion  render  them 
acceptable  to  God,  all  that  is  nothing  but  an  opera- 


UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION.  259 

tion  of  a  self-rigliteons  spirit.  Do  you  think  of 
being  accepted  in  tliis  way,  instead  of  expecting 
God  to  receive  you  as  you  are,  a  sinner  to  be  saved  ?" 

"  Perliaps  it  may  be  so,  tlirough  tlie  deceitfulness 
of  my  heart ;  but  I  am  not  conscious  of  it.  I  have 
thought  of  that  point  very  often,  since  you  explained 
to  me  the  difference  betwixt  trusting  to  the  righteous- 
ness of  Christ,  and  aiming  to  establish  a  righteous- 
ness of  our  own." 

"  Don't  you  love  the  world  too  well  ?" 

"  The  love  of  the  world  tempts  me,  I  am  afraid, 
sometimes  ;  but  I  feel  that  I  am  willing  to  forsake 
all  for  Christ." 

"  Are  you  willing  now  to  give  up  yourself  into 
the  hands  of  Christ  to  save  you,  denying  yourself 
in  order  to  serve  Him?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  ;  but  I  suppose  it  can- 
not be  so,  for  if  I  was  I  should  not  feel  as  I  do." 

"  Christ  offers  to  receive  yon  freely,  now,  just  as  you 
are.  He  invites  you  to  trust  Him.  Why  do  you 
refuse  ?" 

"  I  cZo  try  ;   I  have  tried  ;   I  have  tried  for  a  long 

time,  but  I "  (her  voice  Mtered,  she  could  say 

no  more.)  I  waited  a  little  time  for  her  to  become 
composed,  and  then  inquired, — 

"  Let  me  ask  you,  my  dear  friend,  with  all  respect 
and  affection,  don't  you  indulge  in  some  sin  (sin  of 
enmity,  or  envy,  or  discontent,  or  something  else), 


260  UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION. 

some  sin  that  keeps  you  from  peace  of  conscience 
and  peace  witli  Grod  ?" 

"  No  sir,  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  such  sin.  I 
know  I  sin  all  the  time.  1  struggle  against  it,  but 
I  do  not  indulge  myself  in  any  sin  that  I  know  of. 
If  there  is  any  such  thing  that  keeps  me  from  my 
Saviour,  I  should  be  glad  to  know  what  it  is." 

I  recited  to  her  some  of  the  divine  promises  and 
directions  as*  I  had  often  done  before,  prayed  with 
her,  and  left  her. 

Such  conversations  with  her  w^ere  repeated.  She 
continued  still  the  same.  It  was  evident,  as  I  thought, 
that  I  had  not  been  able  to  profit  her  at  all.  In 
order  to  have  a  more  perfect  knowledge  of  her,  if 
possible,  I  sometimes  called  upon  her  without  say- 
ing a  word  upon  the  subject  of  religion.  Her  man- 
ner was  cordial,  and  her  conversation  cheerful ;  but 
the  old  shade  of  pensiveness  that  hung  around  her, 
like  a  mysterious  spirit,  cast  a  sort  of  tender  and 
touching  melancholy  over  her  whole  appearance. 

Several  years  had  now  passed  away  since  my  ac- 
quaintance with  her  commenced.  She  had  been  call- 
ed to  pass  through  some  severe  trials,  in  Avhich  I 
had  sj^mpathized  with  her  and  aimed  to  lead  her  to 
improve  them  rightly.  She  appeared  to  repose  in 
me  the  most  perfect  confidence,  told  me  her  sorrows, 
consulted  me  in  her  difficulties,  but  continued  with- 
out hope. 


UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION.  2G1 

At  one  time  I  had  great  expectation  that  she 
would  soon  turn  to  her  Lord  in  faith.  She  had  a 
daughter,  a  young  girl  of  sixteen  perhaps,  who  be- 
came interested  about  religion  and  was  led  to  hope 
in  the  mercy  of  God  through  Jesus  Christ.  For 
this  lovely  daughter  she  was  most  intensely  anxious 
and  j^rayerful.  I  strove  to  make  use  of  this  solicit- 
ude for  her  child,  and  of  God's  mercy  to  her,  now 
in  the  bloom  of  her  youth  and  beauty,  as  a  means 
of  leading  the  pensive-hearted  mother  to  the  same 
fountain  of  life.     All  this  failed. 

On  one  occasion  when  I  called  to  see  her,  I  asked, — ■ 

"  Have  you  made  any  progi-ess  towards  religion  ?" 
With  trembling  voice  she  answered, — 

"  I  do  not  know  as  I  can  say  anything  to  you, 
sir,  on  that  subject,  which  I  have  not  often  said  to 
you  before.  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  tell  you  so. 
It  must  be  very  discouraging  and  unpleasant  to  you, 
after  all  your  kindness  and  attempts  to  do  me  good. 
I  do  feel  grateful  to  you  for  your  attentions  to  me 
and  to  my  child ;  but  I  make  you  a  poor  return  when 
I  am  always  compelled  to  tell  you  the  same  thing 
about  myself,  and  meet  you  with  these  tears.  I 
know  it  must  be  unpleasant  to  you.  I  wonder  you 
have  not  been  discouraged  "with  me  and  left  me 
long  ago." 

"  My  dear  lady,  don't  think  of  me.  It  is  God^ 
whose  kindness  ought  to  affect  you,  and  attract  you 


262  UNCONSCIOUS    conversion. 

instantly  to  liis  arms.  I  am  sorry  for  you — my 
heart  bleeds  for  jou.  I  cannot  give  you  up.  I  do 
believe  God  lias  mercy  in  store  for  you." 

"I  am  sure  my  heart  reqn.ites  your  kindness,  my 
dear  pastor ;  I  am  not  ungrateful  for  it." 

"  And  will  you  be  grateful  to  God,  to  Christ  Jesus, 
your  suffering  Lord,  who  bore  the  curse  for  you, 
who  grappled  with  death  and  the  devil  for  you,  and 
opened  your  way  into  heaven  ?" 

"I  hope  I  am  not  ungrateful  to  Him,"  said  she, 
sobbing  aloud. 

"  Do  you  trmt  in  Him,  as  a  Friend  to  save  you?" 

"  Oh  !  I  am  afraid  not." 

"  You  may — a  thousand  times,  '  you  may.^  '  Come, 
for  all  things  are  ready.'  " 

I  could  only  exhort  her,  and  pray  for  her. 

I  called  on  her  again,  and  our  interview  was 
much  the  same  as  usual.  I  did  not  know  but  I  was 
making  her  unhappy  by  my  constant  solicitations, 
and  perhaps  doing  her  harm  ;  so  I  said  to  her, — 

"  My  dear  child,  I  will  not  press  this  subject  upon 
your  attention  any  more,  if  it  is  unpleasant  to  you 
to  have  me  mention  it.  I  have  loved  you,  and 
aimed  to  do  you  good;  but  I  have  failed.  I  do 
not  wish  to  make  you  unhappy.  I  will  leave  you 
hereafter  entirely  to  yourself,  if  you  desire  it,  and 
never  say  a  word  more  to  you  on  the  subject  of 
your  religion." 


UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION.  2C3 

Covering  lier  face  again  with  her  handkerchief, 
she  wept  convulsively,  as  I  went  on  to  say, — 

"I  will  do  just  as  you  desire;  I  will  continue  to 
offer  3^ou  Christ  and  his  salvation,  or  be  silent  on 
the  whole  subject,  just  as  is  most  agreeable  to  — — " 

''  0//,  52V,"  (interrupting  me,)  "  I  do  not  wish  you 
to  leave  me.  I  wonder  your  patience  has  not  been 
exhausted,  and  I  am  sensible  it  must  pain  you  to 
see  me  always  in  this  tearful  condition.  I  am 
sorry  to  make  you  unhappy ;  but  I  hope  you  will 
never  think  me  pained  by  your  visits.  I  am  not^  I 
assure  you.     Almost  my  only  hope  is " 

She  could  say  no  more,  and  I  could  utter  no 
reply.  I  prayed  with  her,  and  promised  to  see  her 
again.     She  demanded  a  promise. 

On  a  futui'e  occasion,  as  I  was  conversing  with 
her,  I  asked  her, — 

"Is  it  not  strange  that  you  do  not  love  such  a 
God?" 

Greatly  to  my  surprise,  she  answered, — 

"  I  think  I  do  love  God,  sir." 

"  How  long  do  you  think  you  have  loved  Him  ?" 

"  Ever  since  I  was  a  little  child.  I  cannot  re- 
member the  time  when  I  did  not  love  Him.  It  has 
always  seemed  to  me,  as  well  as  I  know  my  own 
heart,  that  I  did  love  God." 

With  amazement,  I  inquired, — 

"  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  this  before  ?" 


264  UNCOMSOIOUS     CONVERSION. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  think  me  better  than  I  am." 

"  And  do  you  hate  sin  ?" 

"  I  have  always  hated  it,  (if  I  can  judge  of  my 
own  feelings,)  ever  since  I  can  remember." 

"  Why  do  you  hate  sin  ?" 

"  Because  it  offends  God,  it  is  wrong,  and  be- 
cause it  makes  me  unhappy." 

" Do  you  desire  to  be  free  from  it?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,  if  I  know  anything  at  all  of  my  own 
desires." 

"  Do  you  love  to  pray  ?" 

"Yes,  I  love  to  pray, — it  is  my  most  precious 
comfort.  Sometimes  I  feel  it  a  task,  I  am  afraid ; 
when  I  fear  that  I  am  not  sincere,  and  that  my 
prayers  are  an  offense." 

"  Is  prayer  a  rehef  to  you  in  trouble  ?" 

"  Sometimes  it  is.  At  other  times  a  burden  lies 
on  my  heart,  which  I  cannot  leave  with  God ;  in- 
deed, commonly  I  have  a  burden  left,  because  I  am 
afraid  I  am  not  right  with  God." 

"  Do  you  rely  on  Christ  to  save  you  ?" 

"I  have  nothing  else  to  rely  upon;  but  I  am 
afraid  I  do  not  rely  upon  Him.  as  much  as  I  ought." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  rely  upon  Him?" 

"  Yes,  I  do.  1\.  is  my  constant  prayer  that  I  may 
be  able  to  do  so.  I  know  He  is  able  and  willing  to 
save  even  me,  unworthy  as  I  am.  I  have  never 
doubted  that." 


UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION.  265 

"  Are  you  willing  to  trust  Him  to  save  you  ?" 

"  I  certainly  wish  to  trust  Him." 

"  Do  jou  receive  Him  as  your  Saviour?" 

"  I  hope  so  ;  I  try  to  do  it." 

"Do  you  feel  grateful  for  what  He  has  done  for 
you?" 

"  Yes  sir,  I  am  sure  I  do." 

"  Are  you  glad  to  be  in  God's  hands,  and  in  His 
world,  and  let  Him  do  with  you  as  He  will  ?  You 
know  He  luill^  but  are  you  glad  of  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am.  I  would  not  desire  to  be  anywhere 
else  than  in  His  hands.  It  is  pleasant  to  me  to 
think  that  He  reigns  over  me  and  over  all." 

"  Then  are  3^ou  not  reconciled  to  God?" 

"  I  don't  know.  If  I  was  really  reconciled  to 
Him,  I  have  always  thought  I  should  have  more 
assurance  of  His  favor.  I  am  afraid  to  think  I  am 
reconciled." 

"  Do  you  love  God's  people  ?" 

"  Yes  sir ;  their  society  has  always  been  more 
pleasant  to  nic  than  any  other.     I  enjoy  it." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  these  feelings,  which  you 
have  now  expressed,  are  evidences  of  true  religion  ?" 

"  I  should  think  so,  perhaps,  if  I  had  not  always 
had  them.  But  I  have  never  been  sensible  of  any 
particular  change.  I  have  always  felt  so  since  I  was 
a  little  child,  as  long  as  I  can  remember." 

I  was  utterly  amazed !  Here  I  had  been  for  years 
12 


266  UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERTS  ION. 

aiming  to  make  conviction  of  sin  more  deep,  instead 
of  binding  up  tlie  broken  heart !  I  liad  been  aim- 
ing to  lead  a  sinner  to  Christ,  instead  of  showing 
her  that  she  was  not  a  stranger,  and  an  outcast !  I 
I  was  ashamed  of  myself!  I  had  often  talked  to 
this  precious  woman  as  if  she  were  an  alien  from 
God,  and  an  enemy  ;  and  now  it  appeared  as  if  all 
the  while  she  had  been  one  of  His  most  affectionate 
children,  her  very  anguish  consisting  in  this, — that 
she  loved  Him  no  more,  and  could  not  get  assui^ance 
of  His  love  tOAvards  her.  It  was.  true  she  had  never 
told  me  these  things  before ;  but  that  did  not  satisfy 
me.  I  ought  to  have  learnt  them  before.  I  went 
out  and  wept  bitterly  !  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  pour- 
ing anguish  into  the  crushed  heart  of  the  publican, 
as  he  cried,  '  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner  !' 

On  my  way  home,  I  thought  of  what  my  old  friend 
that  whistled  had  said  to  me  years  before,  and  I  was 
convinced  that  I  had  practically  run  into  the  error, 
against  which  his  wisdom  aimed  to  guard  me.  Over 
the  recollection  of  the  tears  of  anguish  which  I  had 
so  often  caused  this  noble  woman,  in  secret  I  poured 
out  my  own ! 

Afterwards  I  aimed  repeatedly  to  show  her  what 
were  and  what  were  not  evidences  of  saving  faith ; 
and  she  said  to  me  more  than  once,^ — 

"  I  should  think  myself  a  Christian  if  it  were  not 
for  one  thing;  but  I  have  had  these  feelings  ever 


UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION.  26*7 

since  I  can  remember :  I  have  never  been  sensible 
of  any  sucli  change  as  other  people  experience,  and 
as  the  gospel  mentions.  I  could  not  tell  the  time 
when  I  became  a  Christian,  and  am  afraid  to  think 
I  am  a  child  of  God." 

So  she  felt ;  and  she  lived  after  this  for  months, 
downcast  and  burdened,  with  only  an  occasional 
gleam  of  sunshine  to  gladden  her  heart.  I  deem 
it  not  improbable  that  that  secret  grief  which 
preyed  upon  her  heart,  and  cast  such  a  shade  of 
melancholy  over  all  her  appearance,  may  have 
damped  her  religious  joy  and  hope  all  along.  I 
may  not  here  record  what  it  was.  Gradually  I  dis- 
covered it,  and  it  was  cause  enough,  I  am  sure,  to 
excuse  all  the  melancholy  which  so  long  held  pos- 
session of  one  of  the  noblest  hearts  that  ever  bled. 

This  woman  had  a  pious  mother.  Tliat  mother 
taught  her  from  her  infancy,  in  a  most  faithful  and 
affectionate  manner;  and  it  is  probable  that  the 
gentle  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit  renewed  her 
heart  in  her  early  life,  so  that  she  "could  not 
remember  the  time  when  she  did  not  love  God." 

She  finally  came  to  a  calm,  but  feeble  and  timor- 
ous hope  that  she  was  indeed  a  Christian.  She 
hoped  hesitatingly  and  humbly ;  as  she  said  to  me, 
"  it  is  almost  hope  against  hope."  She  removed  to 
another  part  of  the  country,  and  tltere  she  and  her 
daughter  came,  (on  the  same  Sabbath,  I  believe,)  for 


268  UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION. 

the  first  time  to  the  communion  table  of  their  Lord. 
I  have  sometimes  seen  them  since  ;  the}^  have  some- 
times done  me  the  favor  to  write  to  me  ;  they  are 
still  my  precious  friends  ;  and  I  have  reason  to  hope 
they  are  both  on  their  way  to  heaven.  When  she 
arrives  there,  she  may  know  what  she  will  never 
know  here, — the  time  of  her  conversion. 

We  are  apt  to  have  too  limited  views  of  God. 
We  think  we  understand  Him,  but  He  constantly 
goes  beyond  us,  and  shames  us.  It  is  well  for  us  to 
have  wisdom  enough  to  he  ashamed.  The  man  or 
minister,  who  thinks  he  can  trace  all  the  operations 
of  God's  Spirit  upon  the  souls  of  men,  or  thinks  that 
God's  Spirit  will  be  confined  to  the  ways  of  his  wis- 
dom or  modes  of  his  imagining,  knows  very  little 
of  God.  God  sanctifies  souls  through  the  truth. 
That  is  about  all  that  we  know.  If  we  think  we 
have  got  beyond  this  in  knowledge,  and  so  under- 
stand the  "  different  operations  "  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
that  all  true  conversions  will  come  within  the  scope 
of  our  favorite  patterns,  we  have  much  yet  to  learn. 
That  is  a  very  common  error  with  our  Eevivalists. 

Many  persons  who  have  had  a  religious  educa- 
tion, who  have  never  thrown  ofi"  the  restraints  of 
religious  influence,  and  with  whom  the  power  of 
conscience  and  just  principle  has  been  felt,  become 
truly  the  children  of  God,  without  any  such  sudden 


UNCONSCIOUS     CONVERSION.  269 

and  sensible  change  in  their  feelings,  as  we  often 
beliold  in  others.  I  have  learnt  not  to  distrust  the 
religion  of  such  persons.  They  ivear  well.  Feeling 
is  not  the  only  evidence  of  religion.  Just  principles, 
an  effective  conscience,  and  proper  habits  of  life,  are 
evidences  of  it  also. 

The  Eev.  Dr.  A ,  (now  gone  to  his  rest  and 

reward,)  once  the  distinguished  and  very  useful 
pastor  of  a  large  church  in  the  State  of  New  York, 
said  to  me,  more  than  twenty  years  since, — "  After 
I  was  settled  over  m}^  church,  for  about  fifteen 
years  we  used  to  receive  into  the  church  on  their 
profession  of  faith,  from  twelve  to  twenty  persons 
every  year.  But  we  had  no  revival.  Then,  there 
was  a  great  revival  among  us,  and  we  received  in 
six  months  more  than  al'l  we  had  received  before  in 
three  years.  After  that  we  had  no  more  gradual 
admissions,  or  only  a  very  few,  for  six  or  seven 
years.  And  so  it  has  been  ever  since  for  a  period 
of  twenty  years.  Every  few  years  we  have  a  re- 
vival, and  after  it  a  dearth,  and  then  another  re- 
vival. And  now,  if  anybody  should  ask  me,  which 
system  I  prefer,  the  revival  system  or  the  old  one, 
I  should  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  the  old  one. 
I  know  it  is  not  for  me  to  choose.  God  is  a  Sover- 
eign, and  sends  his  Spirit  as  he  chooses ;  but  I  am 
sure  our  23rosperity,  on  the  whole,  was  greater,  and 
oui'  converts  wore  better,  under  the  old  system." 


At  the  earnest  solicitation  of  a  friend,  very  dear 
to  me,  who  had  herself  just  come  to  a  happy  tran- 
quillity of  mind,  I  sought  an  interview  with  her 
sister — an  accomplished  young  woman,  of  about 
seventeen  years  of  age.  I  found  that  the  attention 
of  my  new  acquaintance  had  been  directed  to  re- 
ligion some  few  months  previous  to  this ;  but  though 
her  mind  was  still  very  tenderly  affected,  yet  she 
had  ceased  to  pray.  She  appeared  very  much  dis- 
couraged and  very  miserable. 

"  I  have  given  up  trying  to  seek  God,"  says  she, 
"  it  does  no  good.  I  would  give  anything  to  be  a 
Christian,  but  I  never  shall  be  !" 

"  You  ought  not  to  say  that^  my  child,"  said  I, 
"  You  do  not  hiow  that.  /  know  you  may  be  a 
Christian,  if  you  will ;  for  God  has  never  said,  seek 
ye  my  face  in  vain." 

"  "Well,  sir,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can  never  be  a 
Christian  ;  I  have  that  feeling ;  it  comes  over  me 
every  time  I  think  about  religion." 


CEASING     TO     PRAY.  2*11 

"  And  is  that  the  reason  why  you  have  ceased  to 
pray?" 

''Yes,  sir;  my  prayers  will  do  me  no  good  I" 

"  How  do  you  know  they  will  do  you  no  good  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  pray  with  a  right  heart." 

"  And  do  you  expect  to  get  a  right  heart  without 
prayer  ?" 

"  I  don't  expect  to  get  a  right  heart  at  all,  sir." 

"  Well,  if  you  could  get  a  right  heart,  would  you 
get  it  without  prayer?" 

"  I  suppose  not.  But  all  my  praying  is  only  an 
abomination  in  the  sight  of  God  !" 

"  Does  not  God  command  you  to  pray,  to  seek 
Him  by  prayer;  to  seek  His  aid  and  favor?" 

"Yes,  sir  ;  I  know  He  does." 

"Then  is  it  not  a  greater  abomination  in  His  sight 
when  you  neglect  prayer,  than  when  you  pray  as 
well  as  you  can  ?" 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be,''  said  she,  sadly,  "  I  don't 
know ;  but  if  I  regard  iniquit}'  in  my  heart,  the 
Lord  will  not  hear  me." 

"  Then  you  had  better  not  regard  iniquity  in  your 
heart.  You  ought  to  give  God  your  heart ;  you 
ought  to  repent ;  you  ought  to  '  cease  to  do  evil,' 
and  '  learn  to  do  well.' 

I  then  took  up  her  Bible  which  was  lying  upon 
the  table,  and  read  to  her,  and  explained  the  first 
^YQ  verses  in  the  second  chapter  of  Proverbs :  the 


2*72  CEASING     TO     PRAY. 

first  ten  verses  in  tlie  fifty-fiftli  of  Isaiali :  and  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  verses  in  the  twenty-ninth  of 
Jeremiah.     Then  I  appealed  to  her, — • 

"Is  it  not  plain  that  God  requires  you  to  pray? 
and  is  it  not  just  as  plain  that  He  connects  encour- 
agements and  promises  \vith  that  requirement  ?" 

"  Yes  sir,  I  suppose  it  is." 

"  Then,  will  you  obey  Him  ?" 

"I  would,  sir,"  said  she,  "  if  I  had  any  heart  to 
pray,"  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Do  you  loant  to  have  a  heart  to  pray?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  do  wish  I  had  one  !" 

"  Then,  cannot  you  ask  God  to  give  you  such  a 
heart  ?  Cannot  you  go  to  Christ,  and  give  up  your 
heart  to  Him,  and  beg  Him  to  accept  you,  since  He 
loves  to  save  sinners ;  and  trust  Him  to  put  a  right 
spirit  wdthin  you,  as  He  has  promised  to  do  ?" 

In  this  way  I  reasoned  with  her  out  of  the  Scrip- 
tures for  a  long  time.  It  appeared  to  me  that  she 
was  deeply  sensible  of  her  sins.  She  was  evidently 
very  miserable.  She  longed  to  be  a  Christian.  But 
she  was  prevented  from  every  attempt  to  seek  the 
Lord,  by  the  discouraging  idea  that  her  prayers 
would  be  useless,  and  were  an  offense  to  God.  I 
had  no  expectation  that  she  would  gain  any  blessing 
Yvdthout  prayer,  and  therefore  I  requested  her  to 
listen  to  me,  as  calmly  as  she  could,  (for  she  had 
become  much  agitated,)  while  I  should  mention  to 


CEASING     TO     PRAY,  273 

her  some  things  which  I  wanted  her  to  remember. 
She  tried  to  repress  her  emotions  ;  and  drying  her 
tears,  Hfted  her  face  from  her  handkerchief, — 

"  I  will  hear  you,  sir,  very  willingly  ;  but  you 
don't  know  what  a  wicked  heart  I  have." 

I  proceeded, — 

"  The  First  thing  I  would  have  you  remember  is 
this  :  that  your  God  commands  you  to  pray.  That  is 
your  duty.  Nothing  can  excuse  you  from  it. 
Wicked  heart  as  you  may  have,  God  commands 
you  to  pray. 

"  The  Second  thing  is,  that  God  connects  His  prom- 
ises with  these  commands.  You  have  no  right  to  sepa- 
rate them.  The  23romise  and  the  command  stand 
together. 

*'  The  Third  thing  is,  that  when  you  do  thus  sepa- 
rate them  (saying  the  promises  are  not  for  such 
wicked  hearts  as  yours),  and  therefore  refuse  to  pray, 
you  are  not  taking  God\s  way^  but  your  own.  You 
are  teaching  Ilim,  instead  of  suffering  Him  to  teach 
you.  Your  duty  is  to  take  His  way.  His  thoughts 
are  not  your  thoughts. 

"  The  Fourth  thing,  therefore,  is,  you  are  never  to 
despair.  Despair  never  yet  made  a  human  being 
any  better  ;  it  has  made  many  a  devil  worse.  Hope 
in  God,  by  believing  what  He  says.  You  need  not 
have  any  hope  in  yourself;  but  you  may  have  hope 
in  God,  and  you  may  pray  in  hope.  Never  despair. 
12* 


274  CEASING     TO     PRAY. 

"  The  Fifth  thing  is,  that  your  wicked  heart,  in- 
stead of  being  a  reason  why  yon  should  not  pray,  is 
the  very  reason  why  you  should  pray  most  earnestly. 
It  is  the  strongest  of  all  reasons.  Pray  just  because 
you  have  a  wicked  heart.  Such  a  heart  needs  God's 
help. 

"  The  Sixth  thing  is,  that  a  gTeat  many  persons 
have  thought,  and  felt,  and  talked  about  prayer  just 
as  you  do ;  and  afterwards  have  found  out  that  they 
were  mistaken^  have  prayed,  and  have  become  true 
and  happy  Christians.  I  could  name  to  you,  this 
moment,  at  least  a  dozen,  whom  I  have  known  and 
have  talked  to,  just  as  I  do  now  to  you.  They  have 
been  persuaded  to  pray,  and  they  are  now  happy  in 
hope.  If  you  will  go  with  me,  I  will  introduce  you 
to  some  of  them,  and  they  will  tell  you  their  own 
story.  Remember  this :  others  just  like  you  have 
found  out  their  error.     You  may  find  out  yours. 

"  The  Seventh  thing  is,  that  your  impi^ession  about 
prayer  is  a  temptation  of  the  Devil^  it  is  a  falsehood,  a 
deception,  a  lie  designed  to  keep  you  in  sin  and 
misery.  Not  that  you  think  your  heart  worse  than 
it  is  ;  but  that  you  do  not  think  Grod  so  gracious  and 
merciful  as  He  is,  to  hear  the  prayers  of  even  such 
a  heart.     Resist  the  Devil  and  he  will  flee  from  you. 

"  The  Eighth  thing  is,  that  this  idea  of  yours 
(about  not  praying  with  such  a  heart),  is  just  an  idea 
of  self -righteousness.     You  are  *  going  about  to  estab- 


CEASING     TO     PRAY.  2*75 

lish  a  righteousness  of  your  own,  and  have  not 
submitted  yourself  to  the  righteousness  of  God. 
Christ  is  the  end  of  the  Law  for  righteousness.' 
You  wish  to  pray  with  such  a  good  heart,  that  God 
will  hear  you  on  that  account.  This  is  pride,  wicked, 
foolish  pride,  a  spirit  of  self-righteousness,  self-justi- 
fication, and  self-reliance.  It  is  this  which  keeps 
you  from  prayer. 

"  Do  3'ou  understand  me  ?" 

''Yes  sir,  I  think  I  do." 

**  And  are  not  all  these  things  true?" 

"  I  don't  know  but  they  are,  sir." 

''  Then  will  you  pray  ?  Will  you  begin  now^  to- 
day?" 

"  Yes  sir,  I  will  try." 

For  a  time  she  faithfally  kept  her  promise.  Seve- 
ral times  after  this  I  conversed  with  her,  and  though 
she  did  not  appear  to  me  to  become  more  unhappy, 
yet  she  did  appear  to  me  to  become  more  truly  con- 
victed. Her  conscience  seemed  to  be  more  awakened. 
Her  mind  seemed  to  be  more  influenced  by  the 
principles  of  truth,  and  I  fondly  expected  that  she 
would  soon  find  '  peace  in  beheving.'  But  she  did 
not.  She  yielded  to  the  old  temptation.  She  neg- 
lected prayer ;  and,  in  a  few  weeks,  divine  truths 
ceased  to  affect  her  ! 

I  strove  to  bring  her  back  to  her  closet  duty,  but  in 
vain  !     Years  have  passed,  she  is  still  without  hope ! 


Coiitiiiuiug  ta  f'rit]]. 

Having  noticed  from  the  pulpit,  for  several  Sab- 
baths, the  very  fixed  attention  of  a  young  friend  to 
all  that  I  uttered  in  my  sermons ;  I  called  upon  her 
at  her  residence.  She  had  been  a  gay  girl ;  and 
her  social  disposition,  the  pleasantness  of  her  man- 
ners, her  taste,  and  the  almost  unequalled  kindness 
of  her  heart,  while  they  made  her  a  favorite  every- 
where, exposed  her,  as  I  thought,  to  be  drawn  into 
temptations  to  volatility  and  the  vanities  of  the 
world.  As  I  spoke  to  her  of  religion,  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  she  frankly  told  me,  that,  for 
several  weeks,  she  had  been  thinking  very  much 
upon  that  subject,  and  had  been  "very  unhappy" 
in  finding  herself  "  so  far  from  God, — -just  as  you 
described  in  your  sermon,"  said  she  "  '  without  God 
and  without  hope.^  That  sermon  told  me  my  heart, 
and  I  have  had  no  peace  since.  I  am  astonished  at 
my  sinfulness,  and  I  am  more  astonished  at  my 
stupidity  and  hardness  of  heart."  I  conversed  with 
her,  and  counselled  her,  as  well  as  I  knew  how,  and 
we  kneeled  together  in  prayer. 


CONTINUING     TO     PRAY.  277 

After  tliis  I  snw  licr  three  or  four  times,  witliiu 
the  space  of  a  fortnight.  She  studied  the  way  of 
salvation  most  assiduously,  and,  as  I  thought,  with 
a  most  docile  disposition;  and  she  prayed  for  par- 
don, and  for  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  with  most 
intense  earnestness.  "I  do  want  to  love  my  heav- 
enly Father,"  said  she ;  "I  do  pray  for  the  Holy 
Spirit  to  show  my  poor  heart  the  way  to  the 
Saviour." 

Calling  upon  her  a  few  days  after,  I  found  that 
her  appearance  was  very  much  altered.  She  was 
less  frank  than  I  had  ever  found  her  before ;  and 
though  not  less  solemn  perhaps,  it  was  a  different 
sort  of  solemnity.  She  appeared  to  be  more  down- 
cast than  ever,  though  not  so  much  agitated,  not 
affected  to  tears,  but  having  now  the  appearance  of 
fixed,  pensive  thought.  The  impression  came  over 
my  mind,  that  she  had  been  led  to  yield  up  the 
world,  and  that  the  peculiarity  which  I  noticed  in 
her  manner  and  conversation,  was  the  mute  humil- 
ity of  a  broken-hearted  penitent,  now  musing  over 
the  world  she  had  sacrificed,  more  than  rejoicing 
over  the  Christ  she  had  found.  But  after  a  little 
farther  interrogation,  I  found  it  was  not  that :  she 
was  as  far  from  peace  as  ever. 

But  I  could  not  understand  her.  Her  heart  did 
not  seem  to  me  as  formerly.  She  had  no  tears  to 
shed  now ;  her  manner  was  cold,  and  unlike  her- 


278  CONTINUING     TO     PRAY. 

self;  lier  words  were  measured  and  few;  her  misery, 
which  seemed  deeper  than  before,  had  put  on  an 
aspect  almost  of  sullenness. 

It  was  somewhat  difficult  for  me  to  ascertain  her 
state  of  mind  ;  but  after  a  few  minutes,  yielding  to 
my  urgenc}^  to  tell  me  her  feelings  as  a  friend,  she 
said  to  me,  with  a  fixed  look  of  desjDair, — 

"  I  am  entirely  discouraged  !  I  never  shall  be  a 
Christian !  My  heart  is  so  wicked,  that  it  is  wrong 
for  me  to  pray  at  all,  and  for  the  last  three  days  I 
have  not  tried  !  I  have  given  up  all  hope  of  ever 
being  saved!"  She  thanked  me  for  my  kindness 
and  good  intentions ;  but  gave  me  to  understand, 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  have  the  subject  of  religion 
urged  upon  her  attention  any  more. 

I  encouraged  her  to  persevere  in  her  attempts  to 
gain  salvation.  Especially  I  enjoined  upon  her  the 
duty  of  prayer,  and  said  to  her  almost  jprecisely  the 
same  things  which  I  had  said  before  to  another 
friend,  and  which  arc  recorded  in  the  sketch  pre- 
ceding this,  as  eight  things  to  be  remembered. 

As  I  was  speaking  to  her  in  the  way  of  encour- 
agement, her  look  appeared  to  alter,  her  bosom 
heaved,  she  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed  aloud. 
Keferring  to  this  some  weeks  afterwards,  she  said  to 
me,  "When  you  encouraged  me  so  kindly,  that 
day,  my  whole  heart  melted ;  I  would  have  done 
anything  you  told  me ;  I  thought,  if  (rod  is  so  kind, 


CONTINUING     TO     I' U  A  V.  2*79 

I  must  love  Him,  I  tvill  love  ITim."  She  promised 
to  resume  prayer  again.  Slie  kept  her  promise. 
And  about  a  week  after  that,  light  broke  in  upon 
her  darkness ;  she  was  one  of  the  most  bright  and 
joyous  creatures,  and,  I  am  sure,  one  of  the  most 
lovely  ones,  that  ever  consecrated  to  God  the  dew 
of  her  youth.  She  has  continued  to  be  so.  Iler 
days  are  all  sunshine.  Her  heart  is  all  happiness, 
and  humility,  and  love.  "My  dear  pastor,"  said 
she  to  me,  (when  I  asked  what  particular  truth  or 
means  it  was  that  led  her  to  Christ,)  "  I  never  should 
have  found  my  Saviour,  if  you  had  not  encouraged 
me  so  kindl}^,  and  led  me  back  to  prayer.  Prayer 
is  everything^  for  God  answers  it." 

These  young  persons,  (mentioned  in  this,  and  in 
the  preceding  sketch,)  were  very  much  alike  in 
conviction,  in  despondency,  in  temptation — they 
had  the  same  means,  the  same  ministry — the  same 
truths  were  urged  upon  them  in  the  same  manner. 
Surely  God  is  the  hearer  of  prayer.  If  that  other 
young  woman  could  have  been  "led  back  to  prayer," 
as  this  happy  one  expressed  it ;  who  can  doubt  that 
she  would  have  been  happy,  too,  in  '  the  kindness 
of  her  youth,  and  the  love  of  her  espousals.'  If 
this  page  ever  meets  her  eye  may  it  lead  her  back 
to  prayer." 


iimiiu  ^bilit^* 


A  MEMBER  of  my  cliurcli  called  upon  me,  with 
manifest  solicitude,  in  respect  to  a  friend  of  his, 
whom  he  desired  me  to  visit :  a  young  woman,  who 
was  a  stranger  to  me.  She  was  a  member  of  the 
church,  (but  not  of  mine,)  and  though  she  was  a 
resident  in  the  place  where  I  lived,  she  did  not  at- 
tend upon  my  ministry.  I  had  reason  to  believe 
that  she  had  tried  it,  but  soon  left  the  congregation 
l)ecause  she  disliked  the  preaching.  She  attended 
worshij)  with  another  congregation,  whose  minister, 
as  I  suppose,  preached  many  doctrines,  not  only  dif- 
ferent from  those  which  I  preached,  but  contrary  to 
them.  And  I  had  little  doubt  that  he  would  talk 
to  inquiring  sinners  very  differently  from  myself. 

To  visit  this  young  woman  under  such  circum- 
stances was  not  pleasant  to  me.  I  should  have  to 
encounter  her  prejudices,  and  very  likely  should 
be  obliged  to  contradict  many  things  which  had 
been  taught  to  her ;  and,  in  such  a  case,  it  seemed 
to  me  almost  beyond  hope,  that  I  should  be  the  in- 
strument of  any  good.    However,  she  had  consented 


H  V  M  A  N      A  B  1  1. 1  r  V  .  281 

to  meet  me,  and  it  would  be  ungracious,  if  not  un- 
christian,  for  me  to  refuse.  I  understood  that  a  deep 
and  painful  anxiety,  respecting  her  salvation,  had 
troubled  her  for  many  months  ;  and  when  her  friend 
desired  her  to  converse  with  me,  she  had  consented 
reluctantly,  I  had  no  doubt.  She  told  him  she  was 
"willing  to  converse  with  anybody, ^^  an  expression 
indicative,  as  I  thought,  of  no  great  confidence  in 
myself,  but  yet  it  manifested  an  anxiety  of  mind. 

I  immediately  called  upon  her.  She  was  an  in- 
telligent young  woman ;  her  manners  were  refined, 
her  education  was  excellent,  and  her  well-trained 
mind  was  evidently  accustomed  to  deep  and  exten- 
sive study.  I  am  confident  she  has  few  equals  in 
intellectual  excellence. 

She  was  in  deep  trouble.  She  had  been  a  pro- 
fessor of  religion  for  more  than  ten  years,  having 
united  with  the  church  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
country,  but  for  several  years  past  she  had  been 
convinced  that  she  was  an  unconverted  sinner  still. 

Besides  possessing  a  mind  of  great  strength,  she 
appeared  to  me  to  liaye  much  firmness  of  character, 
gi'cat  power  of  discrimination,  much  pride  of  reason, 
and  an  independence  which  bordered  hard  upon 
obstinac3^  But  I  thought  she  was  of  an  amiable 
disposition.  Her  frankness  pleased  me,  and  I  dis- 
covered in  her  such  a  tenderness  and  depth  of  sen- 
sibility as  are  not  common.     On  the  whole,  I  was 


282  HITMAN     ABILITY. 

mucli  pleased  witli  her — I  esteemed  her  ;  but  I  feared 
that  her  firmness  and  her  pride  of  reason  would  not 
easily  yield  to  Christ,  as  prophet,  priest  and  king. 
She  had  much  philosophy  and  no  faith. 

"  For  years,"  (she  said  to  me,)  "  I  have  been  fully 
convinced  that  there  is  something  in  religion  which 
I  know  nothing  about,  and  know  not  where  to  find 
it."  And  as  I  endeavored  *  to  point  out  to  her,  as 
clearly  and  simply  as  I  could,  the  way  of  salvation, 
explaining  to  her  the  great  truths  of  Christianity ;  I 
soon  found  that  her  opinions  came  into  conflict  with 
the  truths  which  I  presented  to  her,  and  she  seemed 
wedded  to  her  opinions  with  an  unequalled  fondness, 
firmness  and  confidence. 

She  evidently  disliked,  and  very  greatly  disliked, 
the  whole  system  of  truth  which  I  urged  upon  her 
attention  and  her  acceptance ;  but  those  truths  to 
which  she  seemed  most  opposed,  and  which  she  was 
ready  to  call  in  question,  combat,  or  explain  away, 
were  such  as  have  respect  to  human  depravity,  the 
dependence  of  a  sinner  on  the  special  influences  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  and  justification  by  faith  in  Jesus 
Christ,  as  making  atonement  for  our  sins,  delivering 
us  from  the  curse  of  the  law,  and  securing  to  us  the 
full  favor  of  God.  But  she  did  not  appear  to  be  so 
much  opposed  to  the  atonement  as  to  the  Divine 
sovereignty  and  a  sinner's  dependence.  She  fully 
believed  in  "  human  ability. ''''     She  had  not  a  doubt 


HITMAN     ART  MTV.  283 

that  a  sinner  possesses  full  power  to  come  to  Christ, 
to  repent  and  turn  to  God.  The  idea  that  a  sinner 
can  do  nothing  of  himself,  which  will  have  any 
saving  efficacy,  she  could  not  endure.  The  doctrine 
of  helpless  dependence  was  unutterably  odious  to 
her.  She  said  to  me,  as  I  was  urging  upon  her 
heart  some  of  the  practical  truths  of  God,  "  I  be- 
lieve as  Mr.  F believes."     We  had  some  little 

argumentation  upon  the  points  whereon  we  differed, 
but  I  soon  perceived  she  was  so  much  attached  to 
her  false  system,  had  defended  it  so  long,  and  had 
so  much  pride  and  false  philosophy  embarked  for 
its  support,  that  no  direct  demonstrations  addressed 
to  the  intellect  would  probably  avail  to  batter  it 
down. 

But  her  syst&ra  had  not  saved  her.  That  was  her 
weak  point.  It  had  not  led  her  to  peace.  It  had 
not  satisfied  her  heart, — a  heart  still  wanting  some- 
thing, and  roaming,  like  Noah's  dove  on  weary 
wing,  over  a  world  of  waters, — ^no  rock  to  rest 
upon.  So  I  waived  all  disputation,  avoided  theo- 
logical points,  (as  much  as  I  coidd^  and  still  utter  the 
truths  appropriate  to  her,)  and  left  her  own  wanting 
heart  to  convince  her  of  the  truth,  by  the  pains  of 
its  own  experience.  I  kindly  assured  her  that  there 
was  salvation  for  her,  a  peace,  and  a  repose,  to 
which  she  was  now  a  stranger ;  and  encouraged  her 
to  seek  tlie  Lord  with  all  her  heart,  under  the  direc- 


284  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

tion  of  the  Bible,  and  praying  for  the  help  of  the 
Holy  Spirit ;  for  1  was  fully  convinced  that  nothing 
but  the  exjperience  of  her  own  soul  would  correct  the 
errors  of  her  understanding,  and  lead  her  to  believe 
the  truths  of  God.  If  her  "ability"  was  sufScient 
to  repent  without  the  aids  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  I 
thought  she  had  better  try. 

After  several  interviews  with  her,  I  was  com- 
pelled to  leave  home,  and  I  saw  her  no  more  for 
nearly  a  month.  As  I  took  my  leave  of  her,  I  had 
little  hope  in  her  case.  Evidently  she  was  preju- 
diced against  me,  against  my  principles,  and  against 
all  my  preaching.  Personally,  therefore,  it  seemed 
impossible  for  me  to  have  any  influence  over  her. 
Her  mind  Avas  filled  with  a  sj'Stem,  in  all  its  spirit, 
and  all  its  influences  upon  personal  experience  in 
religion,  entirely  contrary  to  my  religious  views. 
She  constantly  heard  preaching,  which  I  thought, 
by  her  account  of  it,  to  be  directly  contrary  to  the 
truth  which  I  was  most  desirous  to  impress  upon 
her  heart.  I  could  not  talk  to  her  of  seeking  God, 
or  explain  to  her  the  way  of  salvation,  without 
coming  into  conflict  with  some  of  her  darling  opin- 
ions. And  hence  I  could  not  expect  that  all  I  had 
said  to  her  would  be  of  much  avail.  Much  as  I 
esteemed  her,  I  was  half  sorry  that  I  had  ever  seen 
her  at  all. 

On  my  return  home  about  a  month  afterwards,  I 


II  U  M  A  N      A  B  1  L  1  T  Y  .  285 

called  upon  her,  as  slie  liad  politely  requested.  I 
found  her  in  a  very  different  state  of  mind.  She 
was  most  solemn,  but  full  of  peice.  Her  mind  was 
all  light,  her  heart  all  joy.  As  she  talked  to  me, 
every  one  of  her  thoughts  was  clear  as  a  sunbeam. 
She  related  to  me  her  religious  exercises  with  so 
much  precision,  clearness,  and  graphic  power  of 
description,  and  in  such  sweet  humility  and  loveli- 
ness of  spirit,  that  I  was  utterly  astonished:  I 
thought  I  had  never  heard  anything  equal  to  it. 
On  that  account  I  asked  of  her  the  favor  to  write 
down  the  account  she  had  given  me, — ^her  own  re- 
ligious history.  She  yielded  to  my  solicitation,  and 
a  few  days  afterwards  I  received  from  her  the  fol- 
lowing account,  Avhich  I  think  one  of  the  most  in- 
structive and  gTaphic  descriptions  I  have  ever  seen. 
I  am  sure  the  reader  Avill  join  me  in  thartking  her  for 
allowing  it  to  take  a  place  in  this  volume. 

"  Dr.  Spencer, 

"Dear  Sir — In  compliance  with  your  request,  I 
transmit  to  you  the  following  sketch  of  my  religious 
history : 

"  Almost  eleven  years  have  elapsed  since  I  made 
a  profession  of  religion.  I  thought  then  that  I  was 
a  Christian ;  but  I  made  a  mistake.  I  found  out  my 
mistake  gradually.  One  thing  was  enough  to  teach  it 
to  m®    As  weeks  and  months  passed  on,  I  found  my 


286  HUMAxN      ABILITY. 

path,  instead  of  being  like  that  of  the  jnst,  '  shining 
more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day,'  only  grew 
darker  and  darker ;  so  that  I  finally  feared  its  end 
must  be  in  utter  darkness. 

"  The  time,  when  I  first  thought  I  had  begun  the 
Christian  course,  was  during  a  Eevival.  The  teach- 
ing I  then  continually  heard,  was,  '  Give  your- 
selves to  God,  and  go  right  about  serving  Him,'  as 
if  doing  that  would  of  itself  make  one  a  Christian.  I 
finally  concluded  that  must  be  all ;  the  importunities 
of  friends  were  pressing  me,  and  I  at  last  expressed 
my  determination  and  readiness  to  begin  then  the 
service  of  God,  believing,  as  I  was  told,  that  we  must 
not  wait  for  light,  we  should  find  it  in  the  discharge 
of  duty.  And  herein  I  see  now  how  the  mistake  of 
my  life  was  made ;  my  religion  was  one  of  works 
and  not  of  faith.     I  knew  nothing  about  faith. 

"  As  time  passed  on,  I  became  fully  convinced, 
that  there  was  no  Christian  principle  at  work  in 
my  heart.  What  then  could  I  do  ?  I  always  had 
a  great  repugnance  to  saying  anything  about  my 
personal  feelings  ;  and  if  I  should  say  I  was  not  a 
Christian,  and  ask  advice,  I  should  only  be  told  what 
I  already  knew,  and  what  I  heard  preached  every 
Sabbath  day.  I  believed  I  might  make  my  profess- 
ed religion  a  religion  of  the  heart,  and  there  was  no 
need  of  any  publicity  about  it :  as  I  was  already  a 
professor,  why,  it  would  make  no  great  change  in 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  287 

me.  And  I  have  tried  to  do  so  again  and  again, 
and  wondered  as  often,  wliy  it  was,  that  reHgion  was 
a  thing  so  utterly  unattainable  for  me.  This  always 
made  me  miserable,  except  wlien  I  forgot  it.  And 
though  I  have  sometimes  almost  forgotten  it  for 
weeks  and  months,  still  it  has  ever  been  a  shadow 
in  my  heart,  a  secret  blight  upon  everything. 

"  A  few  years  since  I  spent  a  season  in  the  State 
of  Michigan,  where  I  was  under  the  influence  and 
preaching  of  the  '  Oberlin  Doctrines.'  My  prejudices 
were  against  them,  supposing  some  mysterious  evil, 
I  scarcely  knew  what,  was  lurking  among  them. 
But  when  I  began  to  understand  those  views  on  de- 
pravity, ability,  imputation,  the  atonement,  &c.,  they 
pleased  me  exceedhigly.  They  addressed  them- 
selves to  my  reason  as  I  thought,  and  commended 
themselves  to  my  heart.  I  found  something  tangible 
to  work  upon  ;  and  ever  since,  religion,  as  a  specu- 
lative matter,  has  been  to  me  the  most  interesting 

of  all  things.     I  adopted  the  views  of  Mr.  F , 

with  my  whole  heart  and  soul ;  have  ever  since  been 
openly  committed  to  that  faith,  and  everywhere  its 
avowed  and  ready  advocate. 

"  For  some  two  years  past  I  have  taken  very  spe- 
cial interest  in  Theological  discussions.  I  resided 
in  W ,  Pennsylvania,  where  every  one  belong- 
ed to  the  genuine  '  Old  School.'  The  Superinten- 
dent of  the  Seminary,  in  which  I  was  engaged  as  a 


288  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

Teacher,  was  a  Clergyman  of  the  Associate  Reform- 
ed Church,  and  a  large  portion  of  the  community 
were  of  that  demonination.  I  was  alone  in  my  opi- 
nions, but  openly  committed  to  them.  Last  sum- 
mer the  Pastor  of  the  Presbyterian  church  which  I 
attended,  formed  a  class  among  his  young  people  to 
study  the  'Confession  of  Faith.'  I  despised  the 
book  with  my  whole  heart :  but  I  joined  the  class 
and  entered  upon  the  work,  all  ready  for  a  contest. 
A  great  deal  of  interest  was  soon  awakened,  not 
only  among  the  members  of  the  class,  but  it  extend- 
ed to  others  also.  To  me,  finding  myself  alone  as  I 
was,  it  was  a  matter  of  most  intense  interest  and  ex- 
citement. I  possessed  myself  of  all  possible  aids, 
studied  carefully,  and  if  I  found  a  point  that  baflSed 
me,  I  sent  it  to  a  Reverend  friend   of  mine,  who 

was  a  disciple  of  Mr.  F ,  and  in  whose  logic  I 

had  the  utmost  confidence.  He  allowed  me  to  ask 
bim  as  many  questions  as  I  chose,  replied  very  fully 
to  them  all,  and  was  ready  to  procure  me  all  the 
means  of  information  I  desired. 

"  In  the  midst  of  this  I  was  called  away,  all  un- 
expectedly, suddenly,  wonderfully  ;  and  I  regretted 
it,  because  it  put  an  end  to  my  discussions,  which 
were  in  prospect  for  the  winter.  I  came  here  into  a 
new  world  to  me,  and  with  work  enough  to  occupy 
all  my  thoughts  and  all  my  time.  Then  I  thought 
to  myself,  '  how  shall  I  ever  become  a  Christian 


HUMAN      ABILITY.  289 

now  ?'  It  seemed  as  if  the  most  hopeful  thne  had 
Just  passed,  and  now  it  was  entirely  out  of  the 
question ;  and  I  felt  sad,  as  I  tliought  '  perhaps 
God  has  given  me  to  the  world  to  take  all  my  por- 
tion/ And  during  the  llrst  part  of  the  winter  I 
had  little  disposition  as  well  as  little  thne  for  serious 
thought. 

"  I  had  great  difficulty  in  deciding  what  place  of 
worship  to  attend.  There  were  several  things  which 
might  have  induced  me  to  attend  upon  your  preach- 
ing, but  then  I  thought,  '  Dr.  Spencer,  with  his  blue 
Calvinistic  notions,  I  shall  quarrel  with  him  every 
Sabbath.'  Xo,  I  would  not  go  there.  I  finally 
found  preaching  elsewhere  much  more  congenial  to 
my  taste,  and  took  a  scat  in  that  congregation. 

"  Some  weeks  since,  I  heard  a  sermon  one  Sab- 
bath morning  on  human  responsibility,  which  the 
clergyman  brought  out  by  dwelling  very  much  on 
the  god-like  faculties  with  which  we  are  endowed, 
and  the  obligations  we  are  under  to  develoj)  them. 
It  pleased  me  exceedingly,  for  that  had  always  been 
one  of  my  favorite  topics,  and  it  tended  to  make 
me  feel  self-reliant  and  strong.  In  the  afternoon,  it 
so  happened  that  I  attended  your  church,  where  I 
heard  a  sermon  on  humility.  Such  a  contrast  of  ser- 
mons really  startled  me  !  They  actually  came  in 
conflict.  If  the  thing  could  have  been  possible,  I 
should  readily  have  believed  that  the  sermon  of  the 
13 


290  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

• 

afternoon  was  meant  for  a  reply  to  that  of  the  morn- 
ing. I  rebelled  against  it  with  all  my  heart.  Yet 
I  could  not  help  thinking  that  humility,  after  all, 
was  most  truly  Ohristian-like,  and  the  most  eminent 
Christians  had  always  expressed  just  such  humiliat- 
ing views  of  themselves.  It  would  be  easy  to  be  a 
Christian  if  I  only  felt  so ;  but  I  could  not  feel  so, 
for  I  did  not  believe  we  were  such  '  weak  miserable 
worms,'  and  altogether  between  the  impressions  of 
the  two  sermons  I  was  exceedingly  troubled. 

"About  that  time  the  things  of  religion  were 
continually  presenting  themselves  to  my  thoughts, 
with  an  unusual  power.  I  realized  as  never  before 
how  utterly  unsatisfying  everything  earthly  proved. 
In  all  the  past  there  had  been  nothing  substantial 
or  enduring  ;  the  future  could  promise  nothing,  but 
to  repeat  the  emptiness  of  the  past ;  and  the  present 
brought  only  the  consciousness  that  I  was  sowing 
the  wind  and  feeding  on  ashes !  That  higher  and 
worthier  life  I  almost  despaired  of  ever  attaining, 
for  what  more  could  I  do  than  I  had  done  ?  any 
other  attempt  would  be  but  a  repetition  of  struggles, 
that  had  been  jjust  as  determined  as  they  were  un- 
availing. Yet  there  remained  those  fearful  certain- 
ties— an  eternity  before  me,  and  a  soul  in  constant 
peril! 

"  Every  Sabbath  day  these  choughts  would  possess 
me  with  such  a  fearful  power  that  I  would  be  led  to 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  291 

form  resolutions  and  purposes,  immediately  and  with 
my  whole  heart  to  make  one  more  trial  to  find  peace 
with  God.  Yety  in  the  daily  duties  of  the  week, 
such  thouglits  would  in  a  measure  be  dissipated,  and 
such  purjioscs  forgotten.  On  one  of  those  solemn 
Sabbaths,  a  fe\v  weeks  since,  notice  was  given  by 
the  clergyman,  that  daring  the  week  evening  ser- 
vices would  be  held  in  the  church,   and  that  Mr. 

F would  preach.     That  seemed  like  a  message 

to  me.  It  brought  me  to  a  point  where  I  felt  com- 
pelled to  consider  if  this  was  not  the  time  for  the 
final  decision.  I  found  no  interest  or  pleasure  in 
the  present,  that  need  allure  away  my  thoughts  -;  I 
knew  no  better  time  could  come  in  the  future.  More 
than  all  this,  all  unexpectedly  my  old  prophet  had 
appeared !  I  certainly  should  have  no  disposition 
to  quarrel  with  him :  all  my  combativeness  would 
be  laid  at  rest.  I  could  receive  whatever  he  would 
say.  Not  an  excuse  was  left  me.  God  had  certainly 
met  me  half  way.  I  dared  not  defer  the  work.  I 
felt  it  must  be  done  now  or  never. 

"I  resolved  to  attend  these  meetings.  I  went 
simply  to  learn  what  I  should  do.  Though  not 
very  much  prepossessed  with  his  manner,  yet  in  his 

matter  I  recognized  the-  same  Mr.  F ,  with  whom 

I  was  already  so  well  acquainted  through  his  writ,- 
ings.  His  sermons  were  very  much  like  those  re- 
vival sermons  of  his,  which  were  published  some 


292  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

years  ago.  His  philosopliy  came  out  occasionally 
in  an  incidental  way,  awakening  most  pleasing 
responses  in  my  heart.  I  heard  him  with  the  greatest 
pleasure  and  satisfaction.  Because  I  dared  not  then 
neglect  any  means  that  seemed  to  lie  in  my  way,  I 
went  into  the  inquiry  meetings.  It  cost  my  pride  a 
struggle,  yet  I  dared  not  exciise  myself.  At  the 
close  of  a  conversation  I  had  there  one  night  with 

Mr.  F ,  he  said  to  me,  in  his  peculiar  manner, 

just  as  he  was  leaving  me, — '  Give  your  heart  to  God 
to-night.  Won't  you?  Give  your  heart  to  God, 
before  you  go  to  bed  :  promise  me.' 

"  'I  have  no  faith  in  my  promises,'  said  I. 

"'  ^VJlatr 

"  I  repeated  the  answer,  '  I  have  no  faith  in  my 
promises.' 

"  '  Well,  make  a  promise,'  said  he,  '  and  stick  to  it.' 

"  But  I  did  not  then  think  how  unwittingly  I  was 
confessing,  in  my  answer,  an  inabihty  I  would  have 
denied.  God  was  then  beginning  to  teach  me  the 
hardest  lesson  I  had  to  learn. 

"  I  came  home  from  that  meeting  in  a  perfect  sea 
of  troubles.  I  was  utterly  amazed  to  find  how 
much  my  pride  had  suffered,  in  putting  myself  in 
such  a  new  attitude.  I  felt  mortified,  humbled, 
broken,  in  the  desperate  conflict.  And  I  thought 
within  myself,  '  If  I  am  so  proud  as  this,  perhaps  it 
is  only  the  beginning  of  what  I  must  come  to.' 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  293 

"  Then,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  I  resolved 
to  see  a  friend  of  mine,  who  was  a  professor  of  re- 
ligion, confess  to  him  I  was  no  Christian,  and  find 
what  he  would  tell  me.  This  resolve  was  just  re- 
versing my  previous  determination,  and  cost  me 
another  severe  struggle.  But  after  I  had  seen  him, 
and  all  the  thoughts  of  my  soid  had  found  utterance, 
it  relieved  me.  Yet  still  my  heart  almost  fainted, 
as  I  found  how  the  committal  had  forced  me  on, 
shutting  up  all  retreat  against  me. 

"That  night  was  with  me  a  serious  counting  of 
the  cost.  I  had  begun  somewhat  to  realize  how  my 
pride  and  will  must  suffer ;  and  I  brought  into  fall 
consideration  what  more  I  might  have  to  do.  The 
idea  of  telling  my  friends  about  my  personal  reli- 
gious feelings,  was  most  repugnant  to  me :  I  had 
always  felt  it  an  insurmountable  difficulty.  I  never 
could  do  it ;  and  I  had  often  feared  this  would  prove 
a  fatal  hindrance.  Every  thought  of  this  kind 
came  up  before  me  ;  and  then  I  balanced  all  with 
my  eternal  interests.  The  question  was  settled  de- 
cisively, finally. 

"  My  friend  had  expressed  a  very  earnest  wish, 
that  I  should  see  you,  sir.  Well,  I  was  in  such 
deep  waters,  I  told  him  '  I  would  talk  with  anybody.'' 
The  next  day  you  came  to  see  me  ;  and  after  hear- 
ing my  account  of  myself,  you  told  me  I  had  been 
'going  about  to  establish   a  righteousness   of  my 


294  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

own,'  and  therefore  I  liad  failed  to  find  what  I 
needed.  You  told  me  that  my  reliance  always  had 
been,  and  still  was,  upon  my  own  powers  and  will 
to  work  out  my  salvation,  without  God  to  work  in 
me.  You  said,  I  '  could  not  do  it ;  I  could  do  no- 
thing of  myself  That  was  the  hardest  of  all  things 
for  me  to  receive.  I  could  not  understand  it.  I 
did  not  believe  it.  I  told  you  I  knew  I  had  got 
something  to  do.  And  afterwards,  when  I  saw 
you,  that  was  the  point  you  continually  endeavored 
to  impress  upon  me,*  that  I  could  do  nothing  of 
myself.  It  seemed  to  me  the  darkest  mystery  in 
the  universe.  Anything  on  earth  I  would  do ;  but 
here  my  understanding  was  hopelessly  baflSed.  Yet 
when,  two  or  three  days  after,  you  sailed  for  Savan- 
nah, I  felt  exceedingly  disappointed.  I  heard  it 
with  the  greatest  regret,  for  your  kindness  to  me, 


*  This  representation  is  true,  but  defective.  I  did  not  fail  to 
impress  upon  her  attention,  her  obligation  to  repent,  her  duty  to 
be  a  Christian,  and  the  truth,  that  she  had  much  to  do,  which  she 
must  do  freely,  vohuitarily.  But  I  insisted  upon  it,  that  her  help 
was  in  God,  that  she  was  an  undone  and  dependent  sinner,  to  be 
saved,  if  saved  at  all,  by  grace  through  Jesus  Christ.  I  did  "  con- 
tinually endeavor  to  impress  upon  her,  that  she  could  do  nothing 
of  herself."  It  was  needful  to  do  so.  That  was  a  truth  which  she 
neither  felt  nor  believed.  I  taught  her,  that  she  had  "  lost  all 
ability  of  will  to  any  spiritual  good  accompanying  salvation,"  and 
that  she  needed  tlv3  Holy  Spirit  to  "  enable  her  freely  to  will  and 
to  do  that  which  is  spiritually  good."  She  speaks  of  her  "  favor- 
ite doctrine  of  ability."  It  was  a  favorite  falsehood  with  her  :  and 
I  "  continually  endeavored  "  to  undeceive  her. 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  295 

and  interest  for  me,  had  won  my  most  sincere  grati- 
tude and  affection. 

"  I  had  endeavored  to  avoid  touching  upon  theo- 
logical points.  I  did  not  wish  to  think  of  them.  I 
felt  that  now  it  ^^'as  another  question  witli  me.  My 
theology  was  safe,  and  safely  put  away.  I  had  not 
a  suspicion  that  it  was  to  be  interfered  with.  I 
knew  well  enough  the  wide  difference  of  opinion 
betwixt  you  and  myself,  and  to  enter  upon  any  dis- 
cussion would  be  most  unprofitable  and  vain.  Be- 
sides, you  seemed  no  more  inclined  to  treat  upon 
theological  points  than  I  did.  So  I  did  not  happen 
to  think  until  afterwards,  the  bow  you  had  drawn 
at  a  venture  had  sent  its  shaft  with  a  tremendous 
thrust  right  upon  my  favorite  doctrine  of  ability. 
It  struck  the  doctrine  as  much  as  it  struck  me.  In- 
deed it  could  not  hit  me  without  hitting  the  doctrine, 
for  the  doctrine  was  directly  betwixt  me  and  the 
arrow  of  truth.  But  you  were  gone,  and  I  was  left 
to  think  of  it. 

"  I^othing  yet  seemed  bringing  me  nearer  to  the 
light.  I  became  almost  discouraged.  Human  lielps 
failed  me,  and  I  found  that  I  failed  myself  It  was 
so.  My  utmost  efforts  of  will  were  wholly  ineffec- 
tual. I  did  thoroughly  prove  them.  Anything  on 
earth  I  was  willing  to  do.  As  I  had  told  you,  '  I 
would  die  ten  thousand  deaths.'  And  my  own 
multiplied   endeavors, — my  own   experiences,    did 


296  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

finally  convince  me  that  it  was  not  of  myself  to  turn 
to  God.  And  then,  with  some  sense  that  I  was  lost 
forever  nnless  He  did  help  me,  I  tried  to  look  to 
Him  for  help. 

"  But  then  came  my  dif&culty, — /  could  not  find 
Him  !  The  heavens  were  dark,  my  heart  was  dark, 
and  the  only  God  I  could  think  of  was  a  cold  ab- 
straction of  my  own  forming !  For  a  long  time  I 
struggled  with  that  difficulty, — I  could  not  find  Him. 
Finally,  the  thought  flashed  upon  me,  '  there  is  a 
God.'  (And  then  I  recognized  a  familiar  principle, 
when  knowing  the  solution  of  a  question  does  exist, 
we  are  patient  to  follow  through  all  dark  ways  to 
find  it.)  '  It  is  true,  though  I  have  not  yet  found 
Him,  there  is  a  God, — God  is.'  It  was  like  finding 
one  spot  on  which  I  could  rest.  Wherever  He  was. 
He  was  the  God  I  wanted.  The  idea  of  His  power 
then  possessed  me.  That  was  my  first  realization  of 
any  attribute  of  God.  And  it  seems  to  me  to  show 
the  wisdom  of  divine  teaching,  that  when  I  had 
been  full  of  miserable  self-reliances,  and  vainly  seek- 
ing in  myself  the  strength  to  turn  to  God,  the  first 
attribute  of  His  that  I  realized  was  His  power.  It 
came  upon  me  with  such  force  and  vividness,  that 
it  seemed  as  if  I  had  never  before  really  believed 
there  was  a  God.  And  then  I  remembered  that  He 
is  ■  mighty  to  save.'  That  idea  came  so  upon  me, 
that  it  seemed  to  fill  my  whole  being.    Such  a  great 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  29*7 

and  glorious  Saviour  then  He  was,  tliat  liuman 
pride  might  well  be  set  aside  for  most  humble  thank- 
fulness. Such  an  one  I  could  worshij)  forever.  So 
diiferent  He  seemed  from  wliat  had  been  my  own 
miserable  conceptions  of  a  Saviour,  that  I  would 
find  mj^self  questioning  if  there  could  be  such  a 
Savioui'.  But  yet  it  was  most  true, — I  felt  it  to  be 
true,  and  wanted  to  tell  it  to  everybody  in  the 
house;  besides,  the  whole  Bible  told  of  One  just  so 
'  mighty  to  save.' 

'*  And  then  came  new  views, — clearer  views  of 
the  atonement.  I  saw  and  felt  how  God  himself 
had  paid  the  ransom  for  a  whole  race  ruined ;  He 
had  himself  borne  the  penalty;  on  Him  was  laid 
the  iniquity  of  us  all ;  it  was  all  done^  so  that  now 
there  was  nothing  to  he  done,  only  to  trust  in  Him 
to  save  us.  It  seemed  such  an  infinite  atonement, 
— so  full,  and  it  was  so  free ;  so  that  every  one  that 
thirsteth,  may  come, — whosoever  will,  may  take 
freely.  It  was  infinite  hve  that,  when  extended  to 
those  so  lost  and  guilty,  became  infinite  mercy. 
There  every  sin  miglit  be  covered  and  lost. 

"  That  night  I  read  '  my  goodness,  my  fortress,' 

&c.,  and  the  thought  struck  me,  is  it  so,  then,  that 

even  a  Christian  has  not  his  own  goodness  ? — is  his 

goodness  Christ  ?     Yes,  it  was  so.     In  Him  was  all 

fulness,  and  such  a  fulness,  then,  there  must  be; 

whatever  the  sinner  needed,  whatever  the  sinner 
13* 


298  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

had  not,  was  all  found  in  Him.  And  it  was  sucli  a 
new  idea  that  the  principle  of  holiness  was  not,  after 
all,  to  be  found  in  our  own  heart,  but  it  was  all  in 
Christ,' — Christ  was  the  '  end  of  the  law  for  right- 
eousness.' He  was  our  goodness,  our  righteousness, 
our  sanctification,  our  redemption, — He  alone  our 
salvation.  And  when  that  idea  fully  broke  upon 
me,  I  was  lost  in  it.  The  forms^  in  which  I  had 
alwaj's  brought  God  to  my  mind,  had  dropped 
away,  and  a  new  God, — a  Saviour,  seemed  to  have 
appeared  out  of  heaven,  and  filled  every  place 
around  me.  It  was  an  uncreated  glory  and  purity 
all  about  me,  and  such  a  purity,  and  such  a  glory, — 
my  only  expression  for  it  was,  '■such  a  glorious 
Saviour  J  The  intensity  and  vividness  of  that  feel- 
ing and  conception,  which  was  the  most  glorious  of 
anything  that  ever  entered  my  soul,  passed  away 
after  a  time,  but  I  was  still  happy  in  thinking  there 
was  just  such  a  Saviour,  until  I  attempted  to  ex- 
press something  of  my  idea  to  my  friend  who  first 
directed  me  to  you,  and  then  it  seemed  to  amount 
to  nothing  more  than  what  I  had  known  before, — 
what  everybody  knew,  that  there  was  a  God  and  a 
Saviour. 

''  But  it  was  a  day  or  two  after  that  before  I  hap- 
pened to  think,  that  here  was  another  of  my  favor- 
ite doctrines  torn  up,  root  and  branch,- — ^that  against 
imputation.     But  so  it  was ;  I  felt  it  was  gone.     I 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  299 

knew  in  my  very  heart  that  Christ's  righteousness 
was  the  only  ground  of  acceptance.  That  express- 
ion, '  making  mention  of  his  righteousness,'  struck 
me  with  peculiar  force.  And  it  came  to  me  again 
and  again,  so  full  of  meaning  !  But  I  did  not  feel 
a  regret  that  my  own  former  speculations  were 
swept  away,  for  the  plan,  as  I  now  saw  it,  seemed 
so  infinitely  more  glorious,  that  I  could  only  rejoice 
in  it.  Not  only  had  He  paid  our  debt,  but  He 
clothed  us  also  in  His  own  robe  of  righteousness, 
that  we  need  not  depend  on  ourselves,  or  look  for 
righteousness  in  ourselves,  but  find  all  in  Christ. 
That  was  truly  a  glorious  redemption. 

"The  vividness  of  these  conceptions  gradually 
dimmed,  but  still  the  t^^vili  remained.  I  helieved  every- 
thing that  I  had  now  learned,  for  it  was  my  hearths 
experience.  And  because  I  found  these  impressions 
lost  their  vividness,  and  I  did  not  feel  them  moving 
me,  but  felt  how  great  a  work  was  to  be  done  in  my 
heart ;  I  could  not,  dared  not  think  my  heart  was 
really  changed ;  and  I  was  continually  fearful  of 
falling  again  upon  a  false  hope. 

"  About  that  time,  in  a  prayer-meeting,  I  heard 
the  minister  to  whose  congregation  I  belonged,  make 
the  remark,  as  he  was  giving  some  directions  to  in- 
quirers,— '  now  we  are  not  going  to  pray  God  to 
enable  you  to  consecrate  yourselves  to  Him  ;  there  is 
not  a  soul  here  but  is  able  to  do  that/     He  said  it 


300  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

was  'just  as  easy,  as  giving  away  a  book,'  he  held 
in  his  hand,  '  all  a^a  act  of  his  will.'  That  startled 
me.  I  had  just  learned  hetter  !  I  had  found  in  my 
own  soul,  that  '  it  is  not  of  him  that  willeth,  nor  of 
him  that  runneth,  but  of  God  that  showeth  mercy.' 
I  did  believe  he  yvt.s  '  the  Author  and  Finisher  of 
our  faith,' — even  the  Author,  This  boasted  power 
of  the  human  Avill,  I  found  to  be  the  very  rock  on 
which  I  had  split  before ;  so  that  that  minister's  teach- 
ing would  not  do  for  me.  He  had  invited  any  who 
wished  to  see  him,  to  meet  him  the  next  evening, 
and  I  had  purposed  to  go ;  but  now  I  would  not 
venture. 

"  In  the  preaching  of  Mr.  F •  hitherto,  his  pe- 
culiar doctrines  had  only  come  out  incidentally. 
But  a  few  niglits  after  this  I  heard  a  sermon  from 
him,  almost  entirely  devoted  to  his  peculiar  views. 
He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  fall,  and  that '  when  man 
had  changed  his  heart  one  way,  he  could  as  well  do 
it  the  other,' — to  speak  also  of  an  '  imputed  right- 
eousness,' which  he  seemed  to  think  was  'the  same 
as  an  imputed  heaven'  would  be, — to  speak  of  the 
power  of  example  being  the  strongest  moral  force 
that  could  be  brought  to  bear  upon  the  mind,  and 
this  we  had  in  Christ.  He  said  that  motives  pre- 
sented would  work  out  their  effects.  These  were  the 
same  things  that  I  continually  dwelt  upon  last  sum- 
paer.     They  now  swept  over  me  like  a  torrent,  not 


HUMAN      ABILITY.  301 

convincingly  however,  for  my  otun  heart  disproved 
them — but  with  a  strange  power.  It  was  hke  reviv- 
ing what  I  had  just  buried.  Those  old  sj^cculations 
(which  m}'  own  experience  had  proved  to  be  false), 
all  woke  up  fresh,  and  m}^  mind  was  filled  with 
them.  It  was  true  that  sermon  touched  a  chord 
that  was  dear  to  me,  and  I  was  compelled  to  have 
all  the  struggle  over  again.  Clouds  and  darkness 
shut  down  over  me,  and  I  could  not  see  my  way 

out!     But  I  did  not  go  to  hear  Mr.  F any 

more. 

"  By  this  time  I  began  to  look  at  my  Theology 
in  earnest,  to  see  if  anything  therein  was  keeping  me 
back  from  the  light.  And  I  finally  acknowledged,  that 
whatever  the  Bible  said,  whatever  God  taught,  how- 
ever it  might  come  into  conflict  with  my  prejudice, 
I  must  receive  it.  I  must  take  it,  and  learn  it,  and  be- 
lieve it  as  a  little  child,  my  own  prejudice  and  reason 
out  of  the  question.  If  Adam's  sin  had  anything  to  do 
with  us,  ^\^liy  I  must  submit.  And  more  than  all 
else,  if  God  did  even  ordain  to  leave  some  to  ever- 
lasting punishment,  I  had  nothing  to  say, — it  was 
his  right.  That  ninth  chapter  of  the  Romans,  which 
I  had  quarrelled  with  more  than  any  other  chapter  in 
the  Bible,  and  had  been  determined  not  to  receive,  un- 
less it  could  all  be  explained  away ;  why,  if  God  had 
really  said  so,  I  must  take  it,  I  must  take  it  just  as 
it  reads,  for,  '  who  art  thou  that  repliest  against  God  ?' 


302  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

And  I  could  see  now,  that  if  it  were  so,  it  did  more 
fully  manifest  the  riches  of  his  glory  on  the  '  vessels 
of  mercy.'  His  plans  and  purposes  were  none  of 
my  business.  Grod  would  reign ;  and  all  I  had  to 
do  was  to  be  willing  to  be  saved  in  the  only  way 
He  had  provided. 

"  But  even  after  all  this,  I  found  myself  in  trouble 
For  some  days  I  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  stopping 
place.  I  could  not  go  back.  I  knew  not  how  to 
go  forward.  All  was  dark,  and  God  was  far  away. 
I  knew  not  what  hindered  me,  or  why  I  was  in 
darkness.  I  could  think  of  nothing  which  I  was 
not  willing  to  give  up, — nothing  that  I  was  not  -will- 
ing Grod  should  do  with  me  ;  and  yet  it  seemed  as 
if  something  must  be  wanting.  Unquestionably  the 
fault  was  in  me ;  my  deceitful  heart  had  hidden 
away  a  part  of  the  price,  and  I  could  not  find  it. 

"  I  was  remarking  this  dif&culty  to  my  friend, 
when  he  suggested  that  I  seemed  to  be  looking  to 
my  past  experiences,  fearful  of  being  again  deceived, 
and  added,  that  never  before  in  my  life  had  I  had 
such  a  course  of  thought.  That  remark  struck  me, 
and  when  I  was  alone  that  evening  it  induced  a  long 
train  of  reflections.  I  had  never  had  such  a  course 
of  thought  before.  That  was  most  true.  Never,  in 
my  life,  not  at  all  before,  when  I  expressed  the  hope 
that  I  was  a  Christian,  had  I  experienced  anything 
like  this.     Never  before  had  eternal  things  come  to 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  303 

me  with  such  reality  and  power,  concentrating  my 
whole  soul  upon  one  intense,  absorbing  thought. 
And  now  I  bethought  myself  of  all  the  various 
processes  through  which  my  mind  within  a  few 
days  had  past.  My  very  power  of  thinking  sur- 
prised me.  I  thought,  that  while  ever  before  I  had 
found  it  difficult  to  fix  ni}-  mind  for  any  length  of 
time  upon  my  own  eternal  interests,  now  my  soul's 
salvation  had  been  the  one  thing  continually  before 
me.  Engaged  in  my  usual  occupations,  there  was  a 
constant  under-current  of  thought,  and  when  at 
leisure,  my  mind  was  filled  with  one  intense,  absorb- 
ing interest.  Here  certainly  was  one  thing  unlike 
what  I  had  ever  known  before.  In  this  respect  I 
found  myself  a  new  creature.  I  reflected,  also,  that 
I  had  always  revolted  from  telling  my  friends  that 
I  was  not  a  Christian,  or  from  expressing  to  them 
any  religious  concern,  but  now  it  was  very  different 
with  me.  I  had  actually  surprised  myself  several 
times  in  thinking,  with  a  sort  of  pleasure,  how  I  would 
tell  all  my  friends  what  wonderful  things  God  had 
done  for  me.  And  it  occurred  to  me  now,  how  un- 
like me  that  was — how  totally  different  from  what  I 
had  always  felt  before.  I  was  astonished,  and  said 
to  myself,   '  what  has  wrought  this  change  ?' 

"  Again,  I  reflected  that  night,  I  had  been  fully 
grounded  and  settled  in  a  sj-stem  of  theology ;  it 
had  been  a  matter  of  exceeding  interest  to  me.     I 


304  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

had  believed  it  as  fully  and  firmly  as  reason  Mlj 
persuaded  can  believe.  Neither  bad  it  been  a  mere 
prejudice  of  education.  The  prejudices  of  education 
and  tbe  influences  under  wbicli  I  have  always  been, 
(except  at  one  time  for  a  few  months,)  would  all 
bave  led  me  far  enough  the  other  way  ;  but  it  was 
a  theological  belief,  brought  about  by  the  power  of 
my  own  reason.  I  honestly  believed,  when  I  rested 
on  that  system,  and  I  believe  now,  that  no  force  of 
argument  in  the  world  could  have  changed  me.  If 
I  had  not  succeeded  in  sustaining  my  system  I  should 
have  felt  that  the  truth  of  it  remained  untouched, — 
I  had  only  failed  in  the  way  of  showing  it.  I  had 
repeatedly  heard  all  the  strongest  arguments  that 
could  be  adduced  against  me,  and  they  never  moved 
me.  The  first  sermon  I  heard  after  I  came  to  this 
place  was  a  sermon  from  Dr.  Skinner,  on  "  De- 
pravity." It  was  a  master-piece.  As  an  effort  of 
intellect,  and  for  its  logic,  I  admired  it  with  all  my 
heart.  But  I  said,  'a  man  equally  logical  could 
answer  him  on  the  other  side,  and  do  even  better 
there.''  Besides,  my  pride  was  concerned  ;  for  I  had 
been  so  openly  and  everywhere  committed  to  my 
faith,  I  had  contended  for  it  so  often  and  with  so 
many,  that  this  alone  might  make  it  a  hard  matter 
for  me  to  retract ;  almost  impossible.  And  besides 
all  this,  when  I  began  to  think  about  being  a  Chris- 
tian now,  theology  had  been  left  out  of  my  thoughts. 


Til    M  A  N      ABILITY.  305 

I  felt  it  was  anotlier  tiling  that  interested  me.  I  did 
not  wish  to  bring  it  up,  and  it  never  entered  into 
my  mind  that  it  would  be  meddled  with,  much  less 
that  I  should  renounce  one  point.  The  idea  of  doing 
so  I  knew  would  have  astonished  me.  Indeed,  my 
attention  had  not  been  at  all  called  to  my  theology, 
until  arrested  by  finding  it  breaking  away  under 
me.  But  now,  under  standingly,  willingly,  I  found  I 
had  given  it  all  to  the  winds.  Human  agency  seem- 
ed to  have  had  nothing  to  do  about  it.  Even  you, 
sir,  had  to  be  called  away,  so  I  could  not  sa}^  your 
persuasion  or  influence  had  done  it ;  and   on  the 

other  hand,  Mr.  F. was  right  here  to  prompt 

me  ;  nevertheless  it  was  all  gone.  I  had  been  almost 
entirely  shut  in  to  mj^self  and  my  Bible,  and  there 
had  been  no  form  of  argument  or  reason  ;  the  change 
had  come  about  almost  unconsciously  to  myself,  like 
the  wind  blowing  where  it  listeth.  And  now,  what 
had  done  this  ?  No  person  else  had  done  it ;  and  I 
felt  that  it  v)as  not  at  all  like  me  to  do  it ;  it  was  the 
most  unlike  me  of  anything  on  earth ;  and  then  I 
felt  convinced  it  must  be  some  higher  power — some 
divine  agency.  It  mitst  be  so.  And  you  cannot 
imagine  with  what  tremendous  power  that  convic- 
tion forced  itself  upon  me  ;  how  it  startled  my  very 
being !  unless  you  know  that  my  old  speculations 
liad  led  me  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  the  special  influence  c  f  the  Holy  Spirit.    I 


306  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

never  could  understand  tliat  doctrine  of  special  di- 
vine influence.  I  thought  it  was  irreconcilable  with 
free  moral  agency,  and  so  I  concluded  it  was  a  de- 
lusion, or  a  mere  figure  of  speech.  But  now  I  found 
God  himself  had  taught  it  to  me.  The  conviction 
forced  itself  upon  me,  that  here  was  a  work  of  Grod's 
Holy  Spirit. 

"  And  as  I  tried  to  account  for  all  that  I  had 
experienced  in  any  other  way,  (aiming  to  guard 
against  being  deceived  again  into  a  false  hope,)  that 
passage  came  very  strikingly  to  my  mind,  where 
the  Jews,  when  they  could  not  deny  that  devils 
were  really  gone  out,  said,  '  He  casteth  out  devils 
by  Beelzebub,'  and  Christ  answered,  '  A  house 
divided  against  itself  cannot  stand;  if  Satan  cast 
out  Satan,  he  is  divided  against  himself.'  That 
might  be  a  crafty  suggestion,  I  thought ;  but  it  was 
not  like  Satan  to  do  for  me  what  I  had  experienced, 
nor  was  it  like  my  own  wicked  heart  to  do  it.  It 
must  be  God^  who  was  leading  me  by  His  Spirit,  '  in 
a  way  that  I  knew  not.' 

"  Then,  in  that  night  of  reflection,  I  thought  also 
of  other  things,  many  lesser  things,  in  which,  as  it 
seemed,  in  spite  of  mj^self,  I  had  been  completely 
turned  around.  It  did  seem  like  turning  the  rivers 
of  water.  They  were  flowing  backward  against 
their  current. 

*'  Well  then^  I  thought,  if  God's  Spirit  has  done 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  30*7 

Buch  wonderful  things  in  me,  (and  I  could  not  now 
doubt  it,)  if  He  lias  already  done  things  which  I 
never  before  believed  could  have  been  done,  then 
He  can  do  all  things  else  ;  and  He  would,  I  did  be- 
lieve He  would,  I  could  trust  Him  that  He  would ; 
He  would  work  in  me  to  will  and  to  do  what  I 
could  never  do  myself.  He  would  continue  the 
work  that  He  had  begun,  and  finish  it  in  righteous- 
ness. There  I  could  rest;  there  the  promises 
seemed  to  meet  me.  God's  word  was  pledged,  sure 
as  His  everlasting  throne ;  He  was  faithful ;  the 
Word  witnessed  with  the  Spirit ;  and  what  He  had 
promised.  He  was  also  able  to  perform.  This  was 
my  light,  my  hope,  and  joy. 

"  And  as  I  thus  looked  back,  and  saw  how  I  had 
been  led,  I  felt  assured  I  might  account,  that  the 
long-suffering  of  God  was  salvation;  that  He  had 
purposes  of  mercy  for  me  ;  and  now,  if  He  had  met 
me,  it  had  truly  been  when  I  '  was  a  great  way  off;' 
and  He  had  received  me  in  such  a  wonderful  way, 
that  He  would  have  all  the  glory.  I  thought  too, 
it  was  because  He  was  a  covenant-keeping  God ;  and 
as  He  kept  His  covenant  with  faithful  Abraham, 
because  '  he  believed  God,  and  it  was  accounted  unto 
him  for  righteousness,'  so  now  He  does  keep  His 
covenant  with  believing  parents.  And  such  faith 
as  my  father  and  mother  exercised  when  they  gave 
me  to  God,  would  be  remembered  and  accepted. 


308  HUMAN     ABILITY. 

This  seemed  to  me  like  another  added  to  the  multi 
plied  assurances  of  His  faithfulness,  that  He  is  a  God 
keeping  covenant  and  showing  mercy ;  and  there- 
fore, He  kept  me  from  an  utter  destruction,  and  fol- 
lowed me  Avith  purposes  of  mercy,  to  make  me 
'  willing  in  the  day  of  His  power.'  I  did  feel  in  my 
soul,  that  He  had  done  everything  for  me,  that  had 
been  done ;  so  I  could  truly  say,  *  He  sent  from 
above,  He  took  me.  He  drew  me  out  of  many  waters.' 
Whatever  I  had  learned.  He  had  taught  me  ;  and  I 
did  believe,  that  same  Spirit  of  truth  would  yet 
lead  me  into  all  trath.  And  I  rejoiced,  that  our 
salvation  did  not  depend  any  more  upon  our  own 
will,  or  our  own  power  of  enduring  unto  the  end ; 
if  it  did,  I  felt  it  would  be  a  yoke  harder  than  that 
which  the  Jews  were  not  able  to  bear.  It  was  won- 
derful to  think,  how  the  whole  work  was  of  God. 
He  paid  the  debt ;  He  clothed  us  in  his  own  right- 
eousness ;  His  Spirit  made  us  willing,  and  then  con- 
tinues to  work  in  us,  keeping  us  by  the  power  of  God 
through  faith  unto  salvation.  Such  contemplations 
and  experiences  as  these  assured  my  heart,  I  felt 
that  God  was  with  me.  The  darkness  is  past ;  the 
true  light  now  shineth. 

''  It  seems  to  me  now,  that  one  of  my  greatest 
errors  has  been,  making  my  reason  the  test  for 
everything, — ^bringing  every  principle  to  the  court 
of  reason  for  trial.     Starting  in  that  way,  it  is  not 


11  i;  M  A  N      AB  I  LIT  V  .  309 

wonderful  that  I  fell  into  error.  I  see  now  that 
faith  is  infinitely  higher, — just  faith  in  God  and  His 
word.  Eeason  gets  blinded,  dizzy,  lost,  Avhere  faith 
is  clear,  calm,  steady,  and  in  a  region  of  light. 
Reason  cannot  understand  the  things  ^f  the  Spirit 
of  God  ;  not  that  they  are  contrary  to  it,  but  be3^ond 
it, — seen  only  by  faith.  And  this  is  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  things  tliat  I  have  learned,' — the 
beauty  and  power  of  faith.  I  never  could  under- 
stand it  before.  It  has  perplexed  me  a  great  deal. 
If  it  meant  anything  more  than  a  mere  intellectual 
belief,  I  could  not  at  all  apprehend  it.  I  believe  I 
finally  concluded  it  did  not.  But  now  I  see  it  as 
everything.  The  Bible  is  full  of  it.  And  to  think 
that  is  all, — just  to  believe  God  is  able  and  willing  to 
do  it  all,  and  let  him  do  it, — ^it  is  wonderfid  that 
should  be  such  a  stone  of  stumbling.  Yet  as  I 
think  of  it,  it  seems  to  me  I  cannot  conceive  of  any 
such  other  sublime  act  of  the  mind  as  that  faith  in 
things  invisible^  which  the  Christian  exercises ;  and 
to  think,  too,  that  any  one, — the  very  lowest  orders 
of  intellect  can  and  do  exercise  it  strongl}'- ;  it  must 
be  the  work  of  the  Spirit  of  God.  Really  to  believe 
in  God,  in  a  Saviour,  in  the  power  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  to  feel  that  the  things  of  the  soul  and 
eternity  are  realities^  seems  to  me  like  a  new  and 
wonderful  thing.  Even  the  thought  that  there  is  a 
God,  as  it  happens  to  flash  across  my  mind,  thrills 


310  HUMAN      ABILITY. 

through  my  very  so  il.  All  these  tL .  .igs, — it  seems 
to  me  as  if  I  had  just  been  taught  tliem. 

"  If  I  had  been  a  Christian  when  I  took  hold  of 
those  theological  matters  it  might  have  been  diifer- 
ent  with  me ;  but  as  it  was,  they  pleased  my  unre- 
generate  heart  as  well  as  my  reason,  and  it  startles 
me  to  think  to  what  conclusions  I  was  arriving.  / 
know  those  doctrines  well-nigh  made  sliipwreck 
with  me. 

"  The  doctrine  of  election  seems  to  me  now,  natu- 
rally, and  necessarily  to  grow  out  of  God's  sove- 
reignty. I  rebelled  agaiust  it,  because  I  rebelled 
against  Him.  And  now  nothing  melts  me  like  it. 
To  hear  Him  say,  '  ye  have  not  chosen  me,  but  I 
have  chosen  you,'  and  then  to  think  there  was  not 
a  shadow  of  merit  or  claim  in  m©^,  but  it  was  all  His 
own  sovereign,  absolute  will  and  pleasure, — I  can 
only  say,  '  not  unto  us,  not  unto  us,  but  unto  thy 
name  be  all  the  glory.'  That  He  should  have^re- 
jkstinated  us  unto  the  adoption  of  children  according 
to  the  good  pleasure  of  His  will,  is  certainly  in 
keeping  with  everything  else  that  I  have  learned, — 
that  it  is  all  of  God.  'Esaias  is  very  bold,'  but  I 
begin  to  see  how  he  may  still  be  right,  when  he 
says,  '  I  was  found  of  them  that  sought  me  not,  I 
was  made  manifest  unto  them  that  asked  not 
after  me.' 

*'  I  know  and  feel  that  there  is  yet  a  great  deal 


i 


HUMAN     ABILITY.  311 

to  be  done  in  my  heart;  but  I  believe  I  do  feel 
more  and  more  as  if  I  could  follow  on  through 
darkness  and  shadowy  light,  trusting  that  God  will 
at  length  lead  me  out  into  perfect  day.  I  cannot 
but  think  that  my  old  rebellion  is  gone.  I  do  feel 
willing  that  He  should  reign,  and  I  rejoice  that  He 
does.  And  if  I  have  any  desire  in  my  soul  it  is  for 
God,  for  the  living  God,  the  God  that  reigns,  and 
reigns  in  grace  by  Jesus  Christ.  While  heaven 
once  seemed  desirable  only  as  a  place  of  security 
from  eternal  death,  or  at  most,  of  intellectual  pleas- 
ure, now  what  makes  my  heart  go  out  for  it  is,  that 
there  I  '  shall  be  like  Him,  for  I  shall  see  Him  as 
He  is.' 

"  And  now  it  is  my  heart's  desire  to  live  '  as 
seeing  Him  who  is  invisible.'  And  whatever  it 
costs  me,  I  would  be  a  humble,  decided,  constant 
follower  of  Christ,  feeling  in  my  own  soul  the  power 
of  that  faith,  that  '  works  by  love,  and  purifies  the 
heart,' — living  the  life  which  I  now  live,  '  by  the 
faith  of  the  Son  of  God,  who  loved  me  and  gave 

Himself  for  me.' " 

*     *     *     * 

Conversion  to  God  is  conversion  to  truth. 


Clje  JciultB  of  ClrristiaiiB. 

Among  my  parisliioners,  at  one  time,  there  was  a 
very  industrious  and  respectable  man,  a  mechanic, 
for  whom  I  entertained  a  high  esteem.  I  thought 
him  a  man  of  talents,  and  of  much  good  feeling. 
He  was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  was  married,  and 
his  wife  had  recently  become  a  child  of  God,  as  she 
believed,  and  had  made  a  public  profession  of  her 
faith  in  Christ.  I  had  nov*^  tlie  more  hope  of  being 
useful  to  him,  on  account  of  his  wife's  experience 
of  grace,  and  the  uniformly  happy  state  of  her 
mind.  He  had  also  some  other  relatives  who  were 
members  of  my  church,  and  were  exemplary  Chris- 
tians. He  was  himself  a  constant  and  attentive 
hearer  of  the  gospel  every  Sabbath  day,  and  when- 
ever I  met  him,  (which  was  very  often,)  he  was  free 
to  speak  of  religion,  and  confess  his  obligation  and 
his  anxiety  to  be  a  Christian.  I  had  no  small  hope 
in  his  case.  I  had  noticed  the  increasing  depth  of 
his  seriousness.  Besides,  I  knew  him  to  be  a  per- 
sonal friend  to  myself,  very  much  attached  to  me, 
and  on  that  account  I  had  the  more  expectation  of 


THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS.  313 

being  able  to  influence  liis  mind  upon  the  subject, 
wbicli  now  occupied,  as  be  said,  "  all  bis  tbougbts." 

After  bis  wife  bad  become  a  pious  woman  and  a 
member  of  the  church,  he  appeared  to  become  more 
deeply  impressed  than  ever  before.  The  day  on 
which  she  was  baptized,  and  came  for  the  first  time 
to  the  Lord's  table,  was  a  most  solemn  day  to  him. 
He  afterwards  said  to  me,  ''  when  I  saw  my  wife  go 
forward  before  all  the  congregation  to  be  baptized, 
I  could  not  hold  up  my  head,  I  was  forced  into 
tears,  and  I  solemnly  resolved  to  put  off  my  salva- 
tion no  longer.  And  I  mean  to  kee^J  that  resolu- 
tion." 

After  this,  I  took  some  pains  to  see  him  several 
times,  for  the  purpose  of  personal  conversation. 
He  was  thoughtful,  serious,  prayerful;  and,  as  I 
thought,  was  '  not  far  from  the  kingdom  of  heaven.' 
But  as  the  weeks  passed  on,  I  was  surprised  and 
sorry  to  find,  that  his  religious  impressions  appeared 
to  have  come  to  a  stand.  They  did  not  vanish ;  I 
could  not  say  they  had  diminished ;  but  they  evi 
dently  had  not  become  more  deep  and  influential. 
He  "used  to  say  to  me:  "I  am  trying^  and  I  hope  I 
shall  yet  be  a  Christian."  I  cautioned  him  against 
delay,  and  against  any  reliance  upon  the  mere  fact, 
that  he  coniinued  his  attempts,  while  he  did  not  flee 
to  Christ. 

In  this  manner  several  months  passed  on.     He 
14 


314  THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS. 

uniformly  appeared  solemn,  oft^fn  avowed  his  con- 
viction of  his  lost  condition  as  a  sinner,  acknowl- 
edged his  need  of  a  Saviour,  and  lamented  the 
wickedness  and  hardness  of  his  heart.  But  finding 
him,  as  I  thought,  very  much  stationary,  I  feared 
that  his  perceptions  of  Divine  truth  were  not  correct 
and  clear,  or  that  his  impressions  were  only  super- 
ficial or  occasional.  And  therefore  I  aimed  to  deal 
the  more  plainly  with  him,  and  tried,  in  every  way 
I  could  contrive,  to  bring  the  Gospel  truths  more 
clearly  before  his  mind,  and  impress  them  more 
deeply  upon  his  conscience  and  his  heart.  "With 
the  Law  of  God  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Gospel 
on  the  other,  his  conscience  to  condemn  him  and 
Christ  to  invite  him,  I  hoped  his  heart  would  be 
brought  to  surrender  in  faith. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  conversations,  which  I  was 
accustomed  to  have  with  him,  that  he  surprised  me 
by  expressing  a  thought,  which  I  had  never  heard 
from  him  before.     I  had  just  asked  him, — 

"  What  hinders  you,  my  dear  sir,  from  being  a 
Christian  indeed,  since  all  the  grace  of  the  gospel  is 
so  free,  and  since  you  are  so  sensible  that  you  need 
it?"     His  answer  was, — 

"  I  think  a  great  many  more  of  us  would  be  Chris- 
tians, if  professors  of  religion  were  different  from  what 
tliey  are.'''' 

"  That  may  be,"  said  I ;  "  but  you  know,  each 


THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS.  315 

one  '  shall  give  account  of  himself  unto  God.'  You 
are  not  accountable  for  professors  of  religion,  and 
they  are  not  accountable  for  your  irreligion." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  he.  "  But  how  can  we  be- 
lieve in  the  reality  of  religion,  when  members  of  the 
church  and  the  elders  too  are  dishonest,  will  lie  and 
cheat,  and  make  hard  bargains,  a  great  deal  worse 
than  other  people  ?" 

"  Have  you  any  doubt  of  the  reality  of  religion  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  I  believe  in  the  reality  of  religion.  I 
believe  in  a  change  of  heart,  as  much  as  you  do." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  ^^you  can  believe  in  the  reality 
of  religion,  somehow  or  other.  In  that  respect  you 
have  not  been  misled  by  our  '  dishonest  elders  and 
church  members,'  who  drive  such  'hard  bargains, 
a  great  deal  worse  than  other  people.'  As  to  the 
accusation,  that  our  elders  and  church-members  are 
such  dishonest  and  hard  men  ;  I  deny  it :  the  accu- 
sation is  not  true.  There  may  be  some  bad  men  in 
the  church.  There  was  a  Judas  among  Christ's 
disciples.  One  of  the  chosen  twelve  was  a  thief. 
But  that  was  no  good  reason  why  other  people 
should  reject  Christ.  The  general  character  of  our 
church-members  is  not  such  as  you  have  mentioned. 
You  ought  not  to  condemn  Matthew  and  the  other 
disciples,  because  Judas  was  a  villain." 

"  Well,"  said  he  (with  some  hesitation),  "I  know 
some  church- members  who  are  no  better  than  other 


316  Tllli:     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS. 

people,  not  a  bit  better  than  a  great  many  of  us  who 
make  no  profession." 

''  Perhaps  jou  do.  But  what  of  that  ?  Will  their 
imperfections  do  you  any  good?  Will  their  sins 
save  you^  or  excuse  you?" 

"  Why," — (hesitatingly),' — "  they  ought  to  set  us 
a  better  example." 

"  No  doubt  of  that.  And  allow  me  to  say,  you 
ought  to  set  them  a  better  example.  You  are  under 
as  much  obligation  to  set  me  a  good  example,  as  I 
am  to  set  you  a  good  example.  You  and  I  are 
under  the  same  law.  God  commands  you  to  be  holy 
as  He  commands  me.  It  is  quite  likely,  that  those 
church-members  of  whom  you  complain,  would  be 
better  men,  if  it  was  not  for  such  persons  as  you^ 
persons  who  set  them  no  holy  example." 

"  Well ;  I  believe  many  members  of  the  church 
are  great  stumbling-blocks  ;  I  know  they  are." 

Said  I,  "  I  believe  many,  who  are  not  members 
of  the  church,  are  great  stumbling-blocks ;  I  know 
they  are.  You  are  one  of  them.  You  are  a  stum- 
bling-block and  a  hindrance  to  many  impenitent 
sinners,  to  your  partner  in  business,  to  your  neigh- 
bors, to  your  sisters,  and  other  acquaintances.  I  am 
sorry  for  it,  but  so  it  is.  If  you  would  become  a  truly 
pious  man,  these  persons  would  feel  your  influence 
constraining  them  to  seek  the  Lord,  and  your  example 
would  be  a  stumbling-block  to  them  no  longer." 


THE     FAULTS     OF     C  II  It  I  S  T  1  A  NS.  31  V 

"I  make  no  profession  of  religion,"  said  he. 

"  That  is  the  very  thing,"  I  replied.  "  You  stand 
aloof  from  religion  entirely,  as  if  you  disbelieved  in 
it ;  and  your  example  just  encourages  others  to  neg- 
lect it  as  you  do.  You  once  told  me  yourself  how 
greatly  it  affected  }■  ou,  when  you  saw  your  wife  come 
out  to  be  baptized  in  the  presence  of  the  great  con- 
gregation. If  you  would  set  such  an  example,  it 
would  probably  affect  others." 

"  My  wife  is  a  good  woman ;  she  lives  as  a  Chris- 
tian ought  to  hve." 

"  Then  you  have  at  least  one  good  example." 

"  If  all  professors  of  religion  were  like  her,  I 
should  not  find  fault  with  them." 

"  And  if  you  were  like  her,  other  people  would 
not  find  fault  with  you.  Your  example  would  com- 
mend religion." 

"  Well ;  the  example  of  a  great  many  professors 
does  not  commend  it  to  we." 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  the  had  examples  ?  Look 
nearer  home.  Look  at  your  wife's  example.  You 
are  very  unwise  to  let  3^our  thoughts  dwell  upon  the 
faults  of  Christians  at  all ;  and  when  you  do  so,  you 
hunt  up  a  few  professors  of  rehgion,  who  are  not 
by  any  means  a  fair  specimen  of  our  church-mem- 
bers, and  you  take  ilieni  as  samples  of  all  the  rest. 
That  is  unfair.  I  am  sorry  you  have  run  into  this 
way  of  thinking.     It  will  only  lead  you  into  error, 


318;  THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS. 

and  call  off  your  attention  from  the  eternal  interests 
of  your  own  soul.  The  faults  of  others  cannot  save 
you.  I  beg  of  you  to  think  less  about  other  people's 
sins,  and  more  about  your  own." 

"  Well,  I  will.  I  know  I  have  had  my  mind 
turned  away  from  religion  many  a  time,  by  thinking 
of  the  conduct  of  professors." 

A  few  days  after  this  I  met  my  friend  in  the 
street,  and  asked  him  if  he  thought  he  had  gained 
the  "  one  thing  needful  ?"     He  replied, — 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  have.  But  I  believe  I  am 
as  good  a  man  as  a  great  many  who  took  the  sacra- 
ment yesterday  in  your  church." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  talk  of  others  again," 
said  I ;  ''  you  promised  me  that  you  would  think  of 
your  own  sins,  and  let  the  sins  of  other  people  alone. 
And  now  the  very  first  sentence  you  utter,  is  a  re- 
flection upon  some  who  were  at  the  Lord's  table 
yesterday.  I  am  surprised  at  this.  Your  hard 
thoughts  about  other  people  will  lead  j^ou,  I  am 
afraid,  farther  and  farther  off  from  religion." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  he,  "  but  /can't  help  it.  The 
members  of  the  church  set  such  examples,  that  my 
mind  is  turned  away  from  religion  by  them  many  a 
time." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  the  old  prophet  knew  how  that 
was ;  '  they  eat  up  the  sin  of  my  people,  and  set 
their  heart  upon  iniquity  ;  they  have  left  off  to  take 


THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS.  319 

heed  to  the  Lord..'  You  arc  one  of  tliat  stamp. 
You  seize  upon  'the  sin  of  God's  people,'  as  if  it 
were  bread  to  you ;  and  then  you  forget  to  pray — 
you  have  '  left  off  to  take  heed  to  the  Lord.'  After 
you  have  eagerly  fed  yourself  upon  the  '  sin  of 
God's  people'  for  awhile,  then  you  have  no  inclina- 
tion '  to  take  heed'  to  anything  God  says  to  you.  I 
advise  you  to  eat  some  other  sort  of  food.  '  The 
sin  of  God's  people'  is  a  bad  breakfast.  It  is  very 
indigestible.  The  wicked  seize  upon  it  as  if  it  were 
bread  to  the  hungry  ;  and  the  w^orst  of  it  all  is,  that 
after  they  have  eaten  such  a  breakfast  they  have  no 
family  prayer  ;  they  do  not '  take  heed  to  the  Lord.' 
That  is  your  case,  precisely ;  you  complain  of  Chris- 
tians, instead  of  praying  for  yourself  You  never 
pray,  after  finding  fault  with  members  of  the  church 
for  half  an  hour." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  don't  pray  ?" 

"  I  know  by  the  text  which  I  just  quoted.  You 
'■  eat  up  the  sin  of  GocVs  peojjie  ;'  and  for  that  reason, 
I  know  that  the  other  part  of  the  text  belongs  to 
you.  You  '  have  left  off  to  take  heed  to  the  Lord^  Is 
it  not  so  ?  Have  you  not  left  off,  ceased  to  pray, 
since  you  began  to  find  fault  with  Christians?" 

"  Yes^  I  own  it.     I  am  not  going  to  deny  it." 

Said  I,  "  I  am  very  sorry  you  take  such  a  course. 
You  yield  to  a  temptation  of  the  Devil.  The  best 
Christians  are  imperfect,  very  imperfect.     They  do 


320  THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS. 

not  profess  to  be  sinless.  You  may  see  their  faults,  but 
you  cannot  see  their  penitence,  and  tears,  and  agony 
of  spirit,  when  in  secret  they  mourn  over  their 
many  imperfections,  and  beg  forgiveness  of  God,  and 
grace  to  be  more  faithful.  If  you  felt  so,  if  you  had 
had  done  wrong  in  joublic  through  thoughtlessness 
or  overcome  by  some  temptation,  and  then  in  secret 
should  mourn  bitterly  over  your  fault ;  would  you 
think  it  generous,  would  you  think  your  disposition 
well  treated,  or  even  had  any  kind  of  justice  done 
to  it,  if  your  neighbor  should  be  going  around  com- 
plaining of  your  faults,  as  if  you  were  a  bad  man  ?" 

"No,  I  should  not  think  I  deserved  that." 

"  Yery  well.  These  imperfect  Christians  have 
such  secret  mournings.  And  if  you  will  go  to  them, 
and  kindly  tell  them  their  faults,  you  will  hear  things 
from  them  which  will  alter  your  feelings  about 
them  ;  you  will  have  a  better  opinion  of  their  hearts 
than  you  have  now,  and  a  more  just  opinion  too. 
Did  you  ever  mention  to  these  people  the  things  you 
complain  of?" 

"  Ko,  I  never  did." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  do  it.  Certainly  you  ought 
to  do  it,  or  cease  to  make  complaints  about  them  to 
others.  Jesus  Christ  has  taught  us  our  duty  in 
such  a  case.  '  K  thy  brv:  cher  trespass  against  thee, 
go  to  him,  and  tell  him  his  fault  betwixt  him  and 
thee  alone.' " 


THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS.  321 

"  That  applies  to  Christians." 

'*  It  applies  to  you.  You  ought  to  be  a  Christian. 
And  your  neglect  of  one  duty  cannot  excuse  your 
neglect  of  another.  You  must  not  plead  one  sin  as 
an  excuse  for  another.  If  one  of  your  neighbors 
had  a  bad  opinion  of  you,  surely  you  would  much 
rather  he  should  come  and  tell  you  what  he  had 
against  you,  and  hear  your  explanation,  than  that 
he  should  tell  it  to  other  people." 

"Yes,  I  should.  But  I  have  called  nobody's 
name." 

"  I  know  it ;  and  I  complain  of  that.  Instead  of 
pointing  out  the  guilty  individuals,  you  complain 
of  Christians  in  general;  and  thus  you  make  the 
innocent  suffer  with  the  guilty.  You  make  religion 
suffer,  (at  least  in  your  estimation,)  by  the  faults  of 
a  few,  who  profess  to  be  religious  people.  How 
would  you  like  it,  if  I  should  speak  of  the  men  of 
your  trade  as  you  speak  of  Christians,  and  say, 
'  Blacksmiths  are  villains,  dishonest  men  ?' 

"  I  should  want  you  to  name  the  men." 

"  And  I  want  you  to  name  the  men.  Come,  tell 
me  who  they  are,  and  what  tuey  have  done ;  and  I 
promise  you  I  will  have  their  conduct  investigated. 
They  shall  be  tried  before  the  proper  tribunal. 
You  shall  be  a  witness  against  them.  And  if  they 
are  found  guilty,  they  shall  be  turned  out  of  the 
church ;  and  then  they  will  be  copiplained  of  by 
14* 


322  THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS. 

you  no  longer,  and  the  good  name  of  religion  will 
no  more  be  dishonored  by  tliem." 

"  Oh,  /can't  be  a  witness  against  anybody." 
"  Why  not  ?  Can't  you  tell  the  truth  ?  Will 
you  make  religion  suffer,  rather  than  bring  bad 
men  to  justice?  Will  you  injure  the  good  name 
of  all  of  us,  '  church-members  and  elders  too,'  as  you 
say,  instead  of  lending  your  assistance  to  purify  the 
church  from  unworthy  members?  Will  you  let 
this  thing  go  on,  and  let  it  hinder  (as  you  say  it 
does),  a  great  many  of  you  from  being  Christians  ?" 
"It  is  not  my  business  to  bear  witness  against 
church-members." 

"  Why  do  you  do  ^^!,  then  ?  You  have  been  doing 
it,  every  time  I  have  met  you,  for  the  last  three 
months.  And  though  I  have  tried  to  persuade  you 
to  cease,  you  still  keep  on,  bearing  witness  against 
'  church-members  and  elders,'  every  time  I  meet 
you." 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  to  injure  anybody." 
"  No,  sir,  I  don't  think  you  do.  The  only  one 
you  injure  is  yourself.  The  general  imputations 
which  you  so  often  fling  out  against  professors  of 
religion,  are  slanders.  They  arc  not  true.  You  may 
think  them  true,  but  they  are  not  true.  I  affirm 
them  to  be  utterly  unfounded  and  false.  There 
may  be  indeed  a  few  persons  in  the  church,  who 
are  as  bad  as  you  declare  them  to  be;  but  your 


THE     FAULTS     OF    CHRISTIANS.  323 

general  accusations  are  falsehoods.  But  suppose 
all  you  say,  or  even  suspect,  Avere  true ;  suppose 
half  of  our  church-members  to  be  bad  men  ;  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  common  sense,  I  ask  you,  what 
has  that  to  do  with  your  religion?  If  half  the 
money  that  is  in  circulation  is  counterfeit,  does  that 
make  the  good  money  in  your  pocket  valueless  ?  or 
will  it  lead  you  to  refuse  to  take  all  money  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to  have  counterfeit  money  ?" 

"  And  I  don't  want  you  to  have"  a  counterfeit  re- 
ligion. The  very  fact,  that  you  complain  of  coun- 
terfeit money,  is  full  proof,  that  you  believe  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  good  money  somewhere :  and  your 
complaint  of  counterfeit  religion  is  full  proof,  that 
you  beheve  there  is  such  a  thing  as  good  religion." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  aU  that." 

"  And  you  believe  that  you  have  not  attained  it." 
.   "I  suppose  I  haven't." 

"  And  are  you  striving  to  attain  it,  or  are  you  as 
anxious  and  prayerful  about  it  as  you  were  a  few 
weeks  since?" 

"  Ko,  I  don't  think  I  am." 

"  Will  you  answer  me  one  more  question  ?  Has 
not  your  seriousness  diminished,  and  3^ our  prayer- 
fulness  ceased,  very  much  in  proportion  as  you 
have  had  hard  thoughts,  and  made  hard  speeches 
about  the  faults  of  Christians?" 

"  I  can't  say  v  -  to  that  question." 


324  THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS. 

"  Then  I  wisli  you  very  seriously  to  consider, 
whether  your  fault-finding  has  not  provoked  God 
to  withdraw  from  you  the  influences  of  the  Holy 
Spirit !  You  do  hnow^  that  your  regard  for  religion 
and  your  attempts  after  salvation,  have  never  been 
promoted  by  your  complaining  about  Christian 
people.  Thinking  of  their  sins,  you  forget  your 
own,  as  I  have  told  you  before.  You  foster  in  your 
own  heart  a  spirit  of  self-righteousness,  by  your 
miserable  and  foolish  way.  I  have  warned  you 
against  it  before,  and  I  will  now  warn  you  again, 
if  you  will  permit  me.  If  you  will  go  on  in  this 
way,  God  will  leave  you  to  your  deceptions  and 
your  impenitence ;  you  will  live  without  religion, 
and  you  will  die  without  it !  I  beseech  you,  there- 
fore, as  a  friend,  as  a  neighbor,  as  a  minister,  dis- 
miss your  thoughts  about  the  faults  of  a  few^  (for 
they  are  only  a  few,)  professors  of  religion,  and 
seek  from  God  the  forgiveness  of  your  own  sins, 
and  the  salvation  you  so  much  need." 

I  left  him.  But  he  never  sought  me  again.  Fif- 
teen years  have  since  passed  away,  and  he  is  still  as 
far  from  God  as  ever.  Often  when  I  have  met  him, 
I  have  endeavored  to  draw  him  into  some  conver- 
sation upon  religion ;  but  he  avoids  the  subject,  and 
commonly  shuns  me. 

The  Holy  Spirit  would  lead  us  to  think  much 


THE     FAULTS     OF     CHRISTIANS.  325 

about  our  own  sins.  It  is  a  dangerous  thing  for  us 
to  dwell  upon  the  imperfections  of  others.  There 
are  many  in  our  congregations,  who  '  quench  the 
Spirit,'  by  complainings  and  hard  speeches  about 
communicants  of  the  church.  The  natural  effect 
of  this  is  just  to  dispel  conviction  of  sin.  "  I  am  as 
good  as  many  who  belong  to  the  church."  If  that 
'ieclaration  is  true,  it  is  utterly  deceptive  to  the  mau 
that  makes  it.  It  leads  him  to  think  liis  sin  and 
danger- less  than  they  are  ;  it  blinds  his  conscience. 
I  never  heard  of  any  mortal,  on  the  bed  of  death, 
apologizing  for  his  irreligion  by  mentioning  the 
faulN  of  Christians. 


Crmu5  ta  ^inH  (Eatr  in  tljf  Mrong. 

The  young  woman  who  wrote  tlie  following  letter 
had  been  known  to  me  for  years.  I  had  often  con- 
versed with  her  upon  religion,  and  she  very  much 
made  it  a  matter  of  speculation  merely,  as  I  believed. 
The  state  of  her  mind  now  when  she  writes,  (very 
different  from  anything  I  had  ever  known  of  her 
before),  may  be  judged  of  by  the  following  extracts 
from  her  letter  : — 

"  For  years  I  have  not  been  indifferent  to  my 
personal  religion,  but  the  incubus  that  formerly 
held  me  within  its  thrall,  still  distresses  me.  Dread- 
ful thoughts,  that  I  dare  not  utter,  against  the  good- 
ness and  justice  of  God,  interrupt  my  efforts  to  do 
right,  and  so  mingle  with  my  petitions,  that  I  have 
sometimes  arisen  from  prayer  in  a  sort  of  despera- 
tion— afraid  not  to  pray,  but  afraid  to  pray ;  and  I 
indulge  in  such  fearful  imaginations  against  the  God 
of  heaven,  even  while  in  the  act  of  asking  his 
blessing ! 

"  I  have  often  tried,  sometimes  successfully,  to 


TRYING    TO    FIND    GOD    IN    THE    WRONG.         32*7 

lay  tliis  matter  entirely  aside,  to  give  it  up,  hoping 
tliat  in  time  some  event,  in  tlic  Providence  of  God, 
would  occur,  wliicli  would  satisfy  my  mind  and 
heart,  and  bring  me  to  an  involuntary  decision.  But 
I  find  that  time  and  waiting  do  me  no  good,  and 
shed  no  light  upon  my  path. 

"I  have  endeavored  prayerfully  to  study  my 
heart  and  analyze  my  feelings ;  and  I  can  see  no 
reason  to  hope  that  I  have  experienced  a  change  of 
heart.  I  realize  that  I  am  deeply  sinful ;  but  when 
I  try  to  feel  grateful  to  God,  that  He  has  provided 
for  me  an  atonement,  and  to  the  Saviour  that  He  is 
that  atonement,  my  spirit  returns  no  response  of 
tenderness  and  love — "a  mail  defends  my  untouched 
heart,"  that  seems  impenetrable  to  any  appeal.  Still 
it  is  my  desire  to  live  hereafter  entirely  to  the  glory 
of  God. 

"  Christ  is  to  me  '  as  a  root  out  of  a  dry  ground.' 
I  see  no  beauty  in  Him  '  that  I  should  desire  Him.' 
I  feel  no  mournful  sorrow  for  my  sins ;  and  my 
mind  and  heart  seem  constantly  rising  in  dreadful 
questioning  of  every  attribute  of  the  character  of  God. 

"I  do  not  ask,  as  formerly,  ivhy  these  things  are 
so  ?  why  I  was  created  sinful  ?  why  I  inherit  the 
body  of  this  death  ?  My  appeal  to  you  is  no  longer 
to  answer  to  me  what  God  has  never  revealed,  but 
it  is  that  you  will  pray  for  me,  that  I  be  not  utterly 
rejected  of  God,  that  He  will  hear  my  prayer  and 


328  TRYING     TO     FIND     GOD 

give  me  repentance  and  faith  in  Christ.  Oh  that  I 
could  feel  that  God  is  my  Father,  that'  Jesns  Christ 
is  my  Savionr.  Oh  that  I  could  love  Grod,  that  Christ 
were  precious  to  me. 

"  For  many  months  I  have  wished  for  counsel  on 
this  great  subject,  and  I  have  endeavored  to  come  to 
a  decision  through  prayer  and  study  of  the  Bible. 
I  have  wished  to  visit  you,  but  have  feared  that  I 
was  not  suf&ciently  in  earnest  thus  to  commit  my- 
self. But  I  can  stay  away  no  longer.  And  may  I 
come  to  you  ?  And  may  I  ask  that  you  will  respond 
to  my  letter  ?  ^  *  *  It  is  my  sincere  prayei 
that  you  may  be  instrumental  in  shedding  some 
light  upon  the  cold  and  callous  heart  that  prompts 

these  lines." 

*     *     * 

Such  was  her  letter.  The  next  day  I  sent  her  the 
following  answer : — 

''  Your  state  of  mind  has  nothing  in  it  new  or 
uncommon.  The  same  perplexities,  the  same  dis- 
couragements, despondencies  and  '  desperations,'  the 
same  fitfulness  and  vain  hopes  of  some  undefined 
and  undefinable  good,  which  have  so  long  affected 
you,  have  as  much  affected  others.  If  your  heart 
refuses  to  love  God  and  trust  in  Christ,  and  in  the 
strength  of  its  rebellion  not  only  refuses  to  obey 
your  will  but  also  entertains  feelings,  and  leads  to 


IN     THE     WRONG.  329 

thoughts  about  God,  which  you  dare  not  utter ;' 
the  same  thing  has  afflicted  thousands  before  you, 
so  that  you  have  no  grounds  for  religious  *  despera- 
tion '  on  this  account. 

"  But  on  this  point  I  have  two  things  to  say  to 
you: 

"  First.  It  is  well,  (perhaps,)  that  you  see  so  much 
of  your  heart's  sinfulness.  It  may  be  well  now  and 
forever,  if  you  obey  the  knowledge  which  truth  and 
the  Holy  Spirit  have  given  you.  This  sense  of  not 
*  loving  God,'  of  finding  '  no  beauty  in  Christ,'  of 
perplexity  and  fitful  '  desperation,'  constitutes  a  part 
of  conviction  of  sin,  and  it  proves  the  presence  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  striving  with  your  soul. 

"  Second.  After  all  you  have  learnt  of  the  deprav- 
ity of  your  heart,  you  have  yet  seen  but  a  very  little 
of  it.  It  is  a  far  more  corrupt  and  abominable  heart 
in  the  sight  of  God,  than  in  your  darkest  or  lightest 
moments  you  have  ever  imagined.  You  have  con- 
viction, but  evidently  your  conviction  is  but  partial 
or  superficial.  You  know  only  a  small  part  of  your 
dejDravit}^  and  danger. 

"And  this  leads  me  to  say,  that  your  failure  to  see 
appropriateness  and  goodness  in  Christ,  and  to  feel  an 
unbounded  gratitude  to  Him,  and  to  the  love  of  the 
Father  which  gave  Him,  arises  just  from  your  lack 
of  feeling  your  undone  condition,  and  your  lack  of 
a  heart  right  with  God.     If  you  knew  well  your 


330  TRYING     TO     FIND     GOD 

lost  estate,  you  would  at  least  'receive  tlie  word 
with  gladness,'  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  redemp- 
tion for  sinners ;  you  would  rejoice  that  one  gleam 
of  hope  remains,  that  there  is  provision  and  possi- 
bility of  salvation.  And  then  you  would  see  clearly 
that  the  best  thing  you  could  do,  and  the  first  you 
ought  to  do,  is  just  to  flee  to  Christ,  an  undone  sin- 
ner, and  fall  into  his  arms,  '  Lord,  save,  or  I  perish.' 
But  even  after  you  saw  that  clearly  and  determined 
to  do  that  sincerely,  another  and  a  worse  affliction 
would  meet  you,  because  you  would  find  your  ob- 
stinate heart  refuse.  And  thus  the  very  amount  of 
conviction  which  you  sometimes  aim  after,  Avould  not 
do  for  you  what  you  are  wont  to  suppose.  Convic- 
tion is  not  the  Holy  Spirit.  You  need  the  infinite 
aid  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  If  you  ever  know  your 
own  heart  well,  you  will  know  that  you  need  it  and 
must  have  it,  or  die  an  ahenatcd,  unconverted  sin- 
ner !  And  then^  prayer  will  be  a  reality  with  you ; 
the  cry  of  want,  the  voice  of  despair  in  self,  the 
voice  of  hope  in  God  and  in  God  only.  And  then, 
if  your  resistance  of  tlie  Holy  Ghost  does  not  pro- 
voke Him  to  depart  from  3-ou ;  your  seeking  the 
Lord  will  bo  witli  jovon  whole  heart,  and  not  as  it 
hitherto  has  been,  with  only  half  of  it.  I  refer  you 
to  Jer.  xxix.  12,  13,  14;  to  Prov.  ii.  1,-5  ;  to  Lsa. 
Iv.  6, — end.  Your  grounds  of  hope  to  bring  you  to 
faith  in  Christ  must  be  tlie  Bible  and  the  Holy  Spirit. 


I  N     T  TI  E     W  R  O  N  G  .  331 

"  Your  reference  to  the  high  and  mysterious  things 
of  God  brings  up  a  matter,  ^Yhich  I  think  may  easily 
be  disposed  of: — 

"1.  "Whoever  believes  in  a  God  at  all,  believes  in 
an  infinite  mystery^  and  if  the  existence  of  God  is 
such  an  infniitc  mystery,  we  can  very  well  expect 
and  afford  to  have  many  of  his  ways  mysterious  to 
to  us ;  yea,  our  reason  demands  it.  Why  ?  how  ? 
wherefore  ?  often  demand  things  which  not  only  lie 
beyond  man  to  explain,  but  beyond  man  to  coni- 
preliend^  even  if  they  were  revealed  by  the  tongue  of 
an  angel,  or  the  lips  of  Jehovah  himself ! 

''2.  There  are  no  more  mj^steries  in  religion  than 
there  are  in  nature,  no  more  dark  and  unexplainable 
things.  Our  life  is  a  mystery,  and  so  is  every  tree 
and  everj^  flow^er.  The  power  of  our  will  over  our 
muscles  is  a  mystery.  The  same  line  of  demarka- 
tion  which  separates  knowledge  from  ignorance  in 
natural  things,  separates  knowledge  from  ignorance 
in  religious  things.  The  case  is  this  (in  general)  ; 
we  know/«c^  the  modes  of  them,  the  why^  the  liow^ 
we  do  not  know.  In  natural  things  we  have  no 
hesitancy  in  acting  on  the  facts,  though  ignorant  of 
the  reason  of  them :  for  example,  we  breathe,  though 
ignorant  of  tlie  reason  ivhy  breathing  keeps  us 
alive.  And  if  we  would  act  upon  the  facts  of  re 
ligion  in  the  same  manner,  we  should  be  Christians 
indeed. 


332  TRYING     TO     FIND     GOD 

*  *  *  "You  say  you  do  not  love  God.  You 
ought  to  love  Him.  Be  ashamed  of  your  heart  (what 
a  heart !),  if  you  do  not  love  Him.  You  have  been, 
(are,)  ashamed  of  it.  And  yet,  when  you  try  to 
make  it  feel,  it  Y\^ill  not  feel  at  your  bidding,  '  a 
mail  defends  your  untouched  heart.'  Do  you  not 
then  feel  your  helplessness  ?  Have  you  not  an  ex- 
perience^ which  ought  to  make  you  both  glad  and 
grateful,  that  God  has  said  to  you  '  m  me  is  thy  help.^ 
Fly  to  Him,  fly  now,  fly  just  as  you  are^  poor,  vile, 
guilty,  lost.  Do  you  not  know  that  Jesus  Christ 
'  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost.'  De- 
lay has  done  you  no  good.  It  never  can  do  you 
any.  You  wait  in  vain  for  '  some  event  of  Provi- 
dence to  bring  you  to  an  involuntary  decision.' 
Such  a  decision  is  an  absurdity,  no  decision  at  all. 
And  were  it  not  so,  it  would  be  nnacceptable  to  God, 
as  it  is  contrary  to  the  Bible.  *  Choose  ye  this  day 
whom  ye  will  serve.'  The  choice  must  be  your 
own. 

"  What  hinders,  that  you  should  be  a  child  of 
God  ?  Is  not  salvation  free  ?  Is  not  the  invitation 
to  it  flung  out  to  you  on  every  jDage  of  the  [N'ew 
Testament  ?  Is  not  Christ  offered  to  you  in  all  his 
offices  ?  and  are  you  not  welcome  to  all  his  benefits 
if  3^ou  want  them  ?  Is  not  the  Holy  Spirit  promised 
'to  them  that  ask  Him  ?'  '  What  more  could  have 
been  done  to  my  vineyard  ?' 


IN     THE     WRONG.  333 

*'  You  say  you  want  to  be  a  Cliristian.  What 
hinders  you  then  ?  God  the  Father  wants  you  to 
be  a  Christian.  God  the  Son  wants  you  to  be  a 
Christian.  God  the  Holy  Ghost  wants  jou  to  be  a 
Christian.  ISTothing  can  hinder  you  from  being  a 
Christian,  but  your  own  worhlly,  selfish,  proud,  ob- 
stinate, unworthy,  and  self-righteous  heart." 

*       *       -Sf 

The  following  expressions  are  taken  from  her 
reply : 

"  And  is  it  my  fault,  that  I  cannot  feel?  I  thought 
that  I  had  done  all  I  could,  and  that  God  was  with- 
holding from  me  His  Spirit. 

"  My  heart  aches  and  is  very  sad.  Do  not  let  me 
deceive  you  ;  it  does  not  feel^  but  it  aches  because  it 
cannot.  The  heavens  and  the  earth  seem  very 
dark." 

I  wrote  to  her  in  a  second  letter, — 

''  It  seems  to  me  your  note  requires  from  me  the 
following  remarks : — 

"  1.  Your  hesitancy  and  backwardness  to  speak 
of  your  feelings,  to  send  your  letter,  &c.,  are  things 
not  uncommon  with  awakened  sinners.  Such  sin- 
ners are  often  ashamed  of  Christ.  You  see,  my  dear 
girl,  that  if  you  would  be  His  disciple,  you  must 
'  deny  yourself)  take  up  your  cross  and  follow '  Him. 


334  TRYING     TO     FIND     GOD 

I  respect  the  shrinking  modesty  of  your  feelings, 
but  I  suspect  that  the  shame  of  sin  has  also  an  influ- 
ence upon  you.  If  you  shrink  from  Christ  you 
cannot  be  His. 

"2.  The  complaint  that  you  '  cannot  feel,'  is  an 
almost  universal  one  with  sinners  whom  God's  Spirit 
alarms.  It  is  one  of  the  strongest  of  all  proofs  that 
the  Holy  Spirit  is  striving  with  the  soul.  Tread 
softly,  my  dear  girl.  '  Quench  not  the  Spirit.' 
*  Grieve  not  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God.'  Remember, 
'  my  Spirit  shall  not  always  strive  with  man.'  '  To- 
day, if  ye  will  hear  his  voice.' 

"  3.  Evidently  you  try  to  make  your  heart  fael. 
I  do  not  wonder  at  you.  I  do  not  blame  j^ou.  But 
it  will  not  feel  for  you.  You  cannot  make  it  feel. 
Only  one  hojDC  remains  for  you ;  give  it  to  God,  and 
He  will  make  it  feel,' — ^to  God  as  it  is,  hard,  sense- 
less, stupid, — to  God  in  Christ,  promising  to  be  your 
Father  and  your  friend. 

"When  you  aim  to  make  your  heart  feel,  you 
are  making  (ignorantly)  an  effort  of  self-righteous- 
ness. You  wish  it  to  feel,  because  you  think  there 
would  be  some  worthiness  in  its  emotions.  It  is  too 
hard  for  you.  Give  it  to  God  as  it  is^ — ^you  cannot 
make  it  any  better. 

"  4.  You  '  thought  you  had  done  all  you  could.' 
I  suppose  you  have  '  done  all  you  could '  to  save 
yourself.     And  yet  you  have  accomplished  nothing. 


IN     THE     WIONG.  335 

You  caunot.  Fly,  tlieu,  to  Christ, — to  Christ,  just 
ds  you  are,  just  as  unfeeling,  just  as  unworthy, — to 
Christ  now,  '  while  it  is  called  to-day.''  Be  assured 
you  are  welcome  to  all  Ilis  benefits. 

"  Finally,  you  are  '  sad.'  You  ought  to  be  joy- 
ful. You  may  be,  if  you  will  trust  your  Saviour. 
'  Eejoice  in  the  Lord '  is  Bible  exhortation, — a  pre- 
cept. Obey  it.  Why  are  you  sad  ?  Because  you 
look  into  your  dark  heart,  instead  of  looking  to 
Christ,  who  died  to  redeem  you.  Look  up,  if  you 
would  have  your  eye  catch  the  sunbeam  that  shall 

gladden  you." 

*     *     ^- 

Her  reply  contained  the  following  expressions : — 

"  How  can  I  dare  to  ask  or  expect  that  Christ 
will  accept  of  such  a  cold,  strange,  unloving,  un- 
feeling heart,  and  not  only  love  me,  but  allow  me  to 
ask  of  Him  such  vast  favors  ?  Surely  there  is  no 
analogy  to  such  a  case  in  nature  or  reason.  It 
seems  to  me  as  if,  (pardon  me),  you  don't  understand 
me.  If  God  ever  softens  my  heart,  I  suppose  it  will 
follow  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  I  shall  love  Christ, 
and  then  I  can  dare  to  venture  to  go  to  Him.  *  *^  * 
I  spoke  of  my  heart,  but  I  used  a  wrong  expression. 
It  seems  to  me  as  if,  in  regard  to  God,  Christ,  re- 
pentance, I  am  but  senseless  matter;  heart  I  have 
none,  and  even  my  brain  seems  stupefied  upon  this 


336  TRYING     TO     FIND     GOD 

great  subject.  *  *  *  Oh,  tliat  I  could  '  look  up 
and  see  tlie  briglit  sunbeam  that  should  gladden 
me.'  The  thought  brings  tears  to  mj  eyes, — would 
that  it  could  thaw  my  very  heart." 

So  she  A\nrote.     I  sent  the  following  answer : — 

''  Your  present  hindrance  appears  to  me  to  be 
very  much  this  : — you  aim  to  do  for  yourself  what 
the  Holy  Spirit  must  do  for  3^ou.  '  In  me  is  thy 
help,'  says  God,  and  He  would  have  you  believe  it. 
All  along  you  have  been  aiming  to  work  yourself 
up  into  a  state  of  affection,  which  should  bring  you 
relief  But,  my  dear  child,  it  is  God  that  must 
bring  you  relief  You  are  to  trust  Htm^  rely  on 
Him^  leave  all  with  Him.  You  cannot  help  your- 
self. You  can  no  more  put  your  heart  right  than 
you  can  pardon  your  own  sins.  Your  heart  has 
been  too  mighty  for  all  your  efforts,  and  will  remain 
so.  But  it  is  not  too  mighty  for  God.  There  is 
help  for  you  in  Him,  and  you  will  find  it  if  you  will 
fling  down  the  weapons  of  your  rebellion,  and  sub- 
mit to  Him  in  Christ.  *  *  *  *  Would  to  God, 
that  you  knew  your  utterly  helpless  condition,  and 
would  fall  into  the  arms  of  the  Saviour,  who  loves 
you  and  invites  you  to  His  arms.  Go  to  your  God 
and  Saviour,  my  child,  just  as  the  prodigal  went  to 
his  father,  (Like,  xv.)  and  you  shall  be  accepted  aa 


IN     THE     WRONfi.  33*7 

he  was.      If  you  do  not  go,  you  must  find  your 

grave  in  some  far-off  land !     Go  now.     Go  just  as 

you  are." 

*     *     * 

She  afterwards  referred  to  this  letter.  Said  she, 
— "  until  I  received  that  letter,  I  never  had  the  idea 
that  some  other  power  must  do  for  me.  Tliat  letter 
first  gave  me  the  idea  that  I  must  go  somewhere 
else  than  to  myself.  Not  till  then  had  I  understood 
at  all  your  former  letters,  directing  me  to  the  Saviour." 

After  this  I  had  fi^equent  conversations  with  her. 
Evidently  she  was  perfectly  sincere,  and  deeply 
anxious.  But  she  could  not  perceive  that  her  fail- 
ure to  gain  peace  with  God  was  owing  to  anything 
in  herself,  nor  could  she  believe  that  she  was  power- 
less in  herself,  in  respect  to  putting  her  heart  right, 
aside  from  God's  help.     Often  she  said  to  me, — 

"  I  am  very  miserable.  I  do  desire  to  love  God. 
Above  all  things  I  wish  to  be  a  Christian.  What 
is  the  reason  I  do  not  get  some  light?"  I  con- 
stantly presented  to  her  the  same  truths  which  I  had 
written,  assured  her  of  the  fulness  and  free  grace 
of  Christ,  and  that  it  was  her  self-reliance  and  self- 
seeking  alone  which  hindered  her  salvation. 

One  evening  she  left  me  in  a  most  anxious  and 

downcast  state  of  mind.     The  next  day,  she  said  to 

me,   "I  have   called,   you  will   think,  very  soon. 

But  I  have  come  to  tell  you,  that  I  am  as  happy  to- 

15 


^^8  TRYING     T^     FIND     GOD 

day,  as  I  was  miserable  yesterday.  I  found  I  could 
do  nothing.  I  was  helpless.  I  had  exhausted  all 
my  powers,  and  still  was  just  the  same.  All  I  could 
do,  was  to  pray,  and  depend  on  God.  I  am  noth- 
ing. Never  before  have  I  had  such  a  sense  of 
my  sinfulness,  and  it  is  now  sweet  to  think  I  majf 
rely  upon  God."     I  asked  her, — 

"  What  hindered  you  so  long?" 

"  All  my  life,"  said  she,  "  I  have  stopped  at  the 
same  j^lace.  I  have  read  the  Bible,  and  prayed,  but 
my  mind  would  find  some  difficulty,  and  stop  there. 
All  TYiy  days  I  have  been  trying  to  find  God  in  the 
wrong  r 

"Wherein  were  you  wrong,  yourself?" 

"  I  was  not  willing  to  trust  God.  I  thought  (or 
tried  to  think,)  it  was  not  my  fault  that  I  was  not  a 
Christian.  Your  letter  astonished  me.  How  could 
I  have  been  so  ignorant  of  God  ?  I  did  not  know 
till  I  got  your  letter,  that  a  sinner  might  come  to 
Christ  just  as  he  is.  It  seems  to  me  that  people  do 
not  understand  that.  I  never  understood  it  before. 
I  want  you  to  preach  that,  so  that  people  may  know 
it.  It  was  all  new  to  me !  At  first  I  did  not  be- 
lieve it.  How  could  you  know  how  I  should  be 
affected  all  along ;  and  that,  after  I  should  see  the 
sinfulness  of  my  heart,  and  be  determined  to  obey 
God,  a  '  worse  difficulty  would  meet '  me ;  my  heart 
*  would  refuse  to  trust?'     I  see  it  now.     Before,  I 


IN     THE     WRONG.  339 

did  not  tliink  it  was  my  fault  that  I  was  not  a  Chris- 
tian.    I  tried  all  the  time  to  put  God  in  the  wrong." 

Because  this  young  woman  had  asked  me  to 
preacli  the  same  things  to  others,  which  had  so 
much  surprised  and  profited  her ;  I  requested  her 
to  make  for  me  a  written  statement  of  her  religious 
experience.  A  short  time  p^fterwards,  she  gave  me 
the  following : — 

*'  Ever  since  I  had  given  up  the  study  of  reli- 
gious truth,  as  a  mere  intellectual  speculation ;  I 
had  for  years  tried  to  pursue  it  with  and  for  my 
heart.  Distressed  with  doubts  and  darkness,  but 
hoping,  that  God  would  some  time  or  other  take 
them  from  me ;  I  studied  the  Bible  with  prayer, 
and  endeavored  to  be  governed  by  its  teachings, 
and  enjoyed  and  appreciated  spiritual  things  to  such 
a  degree,  that  my  state  seemed  often  very  strange  to 
me ;  for  I  realized  that  I  did  not  love  God,  and  felt 
no  interest  in  Christ,  and  knew  tliat  without  this 
there  was  no  true  religion.  Still  I  felt  no  alarm, 
thinking  it  evidence  that  I  was  not  vitally  in  error, 
because  I  was  so  desirous  to  be  right.  I  thought  I 
was  all  but  entirely  religious ,  but  as  these  were  fun- 
damental wants,  and  as  I  was  sincerely  desirous  to 
come  to  a  decision  upon  this  subject,  I  determined 
to  attain  them.  But  in  this  I  could  not  succeed.  I 
tried  very  hard,  laboriously,  but  could  not  make 


340  TRYING     TO     FIND     GOD 

myself  love  God.  My  mind  in  its  eiforts,  invaria- 
bly, at  a  certain  point,  came  to  a  stop.  I  perceived 
that  there  was  an  obstacle  there  that  always  over- 
threw me,  but  could  not  tell  what  it  was.  I  felt  no 
pain  at  this,  because  I  thought  I  had  done  all  I 
could,  when  Grod  withheld  from  me  His  Spirit,  and, 
(can  I  express  the  dreadful  thought !)  that  the  fault 
was  God's  and  not  mine  !  But,  as  others  did  suc- 
ceed, it  must  be  that  I  could  ;  and,  afraid  to  die  as 
I  was,  I  persisted  in  using  every  faculty  to  gain  my 
object,  but  it  was  of  no  use. 

"  I  became  convinced  that  all  my  trying,  and  all 
my  searching,  were  in  vain  ;  and,  tired  of  wearying 
myself  longer  in  fruitless  efforts,  I  determined  to 
make  a  statement  of  m}^  feelings  to  you,  not  doubt- 
ing that  you  could  soon  enlighten  me,  and  thinking 
that,  as  soon  as  I  discovered  the  point  that  was  now 
hidden  from  me,  I  should  love  God  ;  and  that  then 
a  knowledge  of  and  interest  in  the  Saviour  would 
follow  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  the  FAR  off  distance 
with  which  I  had  always  regarded  Christ.  It  is 
with  difficulty  that  I  can  suppress  the  comments, 
that  my  heart  instinct^*  ely  responded  to  every  sen- 
tence of  3^our  letterr,  as  I  read  them.  But  I  will 
only  say,  that  my  mind,  heart,  and  senses,  were  in 
a  maze,  when  I  perceived  their  contents  so  contrary 
to  my  expectations. 


IN     THE     WRONG.  341 

*'  That  my  '  heart  EEFUSED  to  love  God  and  trust  in 
Chrtstj^ — that  '  the  Holy  Spirit  was  striving  with  me,' 
— ^that  '  I  knew  only  a  small  part  of  my  depravity  and 
danger^ — that  'my  failure  to  feel  an  unbounded 
gratitude  to  the  Saviour,  and  to  the  love  of  the 
Father  who  gave  Him,  arose  from  my  lack  of  feeling 
my  undone  condition^  and  my  lack  of  a  heart  right 
with  God,'' — ^tliat  '  I  had  been  seeking  God  with  only 
half  my  heart ^^ — were  positions  totally  inadmissible 
to  my  belief,  so  strong  was  the  impression  on  my 
mind  tliat  I  was  nearly^  entirely  right :  and  I  was 
between  laughing  and  displeasure,  at  the  denuneia- 
tions  you  pronounced  upon  my  heart  throughout, 
and  especially  at  the  close  of  your  first  letter. 

"  At  first,  I  concluded  that  you  had  not  in  the 
least  understood  or  appreciated  me  ;  and  next,  that 
you  were  unnecessarily  severe  ;  but  by  degrees  the 
conviction  began  to  steal  over  me,  with  a  feeling 
that  I  cannot  describe.  Is  it  so  f  Am  I  cdl  -wrong  ? 
Is  it  my  fault  that  I  do  not  love  God  ?  Has  the 
Holy  Spirit  been  striving  with  my  heart?  when  I 
thought  I  had  been  breasting  the  tide  alone  so  long, 
and  God  had  looked  so  coldly  on  my  struggles  ? 

"  But  a  gi^eater  surprise  awaited  me ;  your  remedy 
for  my  difiiculties,  when  you  directed  me  to  '  fly  to 
Christ  just  as  I  was."*  '  When  you  aim  to  make  your 
heart  feel,  you  are  making  (ignorantly)  an  effort  of 
of  self-righteousness.'     *     *     *     '  It  is  too  hard  for 


342  TRYING     TO     FIND     GOD 

you.  Give  it  to  God  as  it  is ;  you  cannot  make  it 
better.'  .  .  .  .  '  You  thought  you  had  done  all 
you  could.  I  suppose  you  have  done  all  you  could 
to  save  yourself^  and  yet  you  have  accomplished 
nothing.  You  cannot.  Fly  then  to  Christ — ^to 
Christ,  just  as  you  are — -just  as  unfeeling,  just  as  un- 
worthy ;  to  Christ  now.''     So  you  wrote  to  me. 

"  Here  my  heart  fails  me  to  express  my  emotions. 
I  require  another  medium  than  words  to  tell  what  I 
felt.  Fly  to  Christ  ?  just  as  I  am  ?  to  Christ  now  f 
Give  Him  my  heart,  just  as  it  is  ?  I  have  never 
thought  anything  about  Christ.  He  has  ahvays  been 
la^t  in  my  thoughts ;  and  fly  to  Him  first  ?  fly  to  Him 
now?  stop  trying,  and  He  do  all?  Impossible! 
You  did  not  understand  me  !  My  powers  seemed 
stunned.  I  tried  not  to  think  about  it ;  and  after 
some  days  of  perturbation  I  went  to  see  you,  hoping 
you  would  say  to  me  something  different — something 
on  which  I  could  act ;  but  your  remarks  were  all 
the  same.  I  was  very  much  disappointed,  and  list- 
ened in  respectful  silence — though  thinking  while 
you  were  speaking  that  you  had  little  idea  of  their 
subsequent  use  to  me.  I  came  home  without  the 
slightest  idea  of  doing  as  you  had  said,  certain  that 
you  were  not  aware  of  what  you  had  told  me  to  do. 
But  that  I  was  all  wrong ^  that  I  had  not  a  single  right 
feeling ;  that  I  was  so  far,  far  from  God,  when  I  thought 
I  was  all  right,  but  in  one  item,  (which  would  ne- 


IN     THE    WRONG.  343 

cessarilj  come  right  after  I  loved  God,)  was  very 
distressing  to  me.  What  could  I  do  ?  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  had  a  mightier  effort  to  make  now  than 
ever  before,  and  I  was  afraid  I  should  die  before  I 
should  have  time  to  accomplish  it.  Oh,  tlie  troubled 
sea  that  tossed  within  my  poor  heart,  T  cannot  bear 
to  think  upon !  But  do  something  I  must.  I  tried 
to  pray ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  the  heavens  and  earth 
were  brass,  above  and  beneath  me.  I  examined  the 
Bible,  and  all  the  references  to  the  texts  to  which 
you  referred  me,  and  found  that  it  substantiated 
your  every  word,  and  I  began  to  feel  that  all  you 
had  said  was  true.  And  then  I  wondered  that  you 
had  never  told  me  so  heforel  I  was  sure  that  I  had 
never  heard  it  in  any  of  the  years  of  your  sermons^  to 
which  I  had  so  interestedly  listened ;  and  I  could  not 
remember  that  you  had  ever  told  it  to  me,  in  any  of  the 
previous  conversations  that  you  had  had  with  me.  I 
was  not  conscious  that  I  had  ever  before  seen  it  in 
the  Bible.  If  I  had,  I  had  never  comjyrehended  it 
with  even  an  ordinary  amount  of  common  intelligence  ; 
it  was  an  entirely  new  truth. 

"Oh  how  can  I  describe  m}^  ineffectual  efforts 
to  gTope  and  feel  after  Christy  through  the  thick  dark- 
ness !  I  could  not  find  Him.  I  could  only  cry, 
Jesus,  Master,  have  mercy  upon  me ;  and  ask  Him 
to  take  my  heart,  for  I  could  not  give  it  to  Ilim." 


A  YOUNG  man  called  upon  me  one  Sabbath  even- 
ing, and  as  soon  as  we  were  seated,  he  said  to 
me, — 

"  I  have  accepted  the  invitation  that  jou  have  so 
often  given  from  the  pulpit,  to  any  who  are  willing 
to  converse  with  you  upon  the  subject  of  religion." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  I. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  "  as  I  have  anything 
to  say,  such  as  I  ought  to  have ;  but  I  am  convinced 
that  I  have  neglected  religion  long  enough^  and  I  am 
determined  to  put  it  off  no  longer." 

"  That  is  a  good  determination,"  said  I,  '"  Behold 
now  is  the  accepted  time,  behold  now  is  the  day  of 
salvation. ' " 

*'  Well,  I  don't  know  as  that  text  is  for  me,  be- 
cause  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  for  you,"  said  I,  interrupting  him. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  sir,  I  don't  suppose  I  have 
got  so  far  as  that  yet,  so  that  salvation  is  for  me 

"  You  told  me  that  you  was  '  determined  to  put 


delay:    or,  the    accepted   time.  345 

off  religion  no  longer;'  and  tlierefore  I  say,  '  now  is 
the  accepted  time,  now  is  the  day  of  salvation.' " 

"  But  I  don't  wish  to  be  in  a  hurry,  sir." 

"  You  ought  to  be  in  haste.  David  was.  He  says, 
'I  thought  on  my  ways  and  turned  my  feet  to 
thy  testimonies.  I  made  haste  and  delayed  not  to 
keep  thy  commandments.'  God  now  commandeth 
all  men,  everywhere,  to  repent,  and  you  are  one 
of  them.  And  if  you  are  like  David,  you  will 
*  make  haste  and  delay  not '  to  keep  God's  command- 
ments." 

"I  don't  suppose  I  am  in  such  a  state  of  mind,  as 
to  be  prepared  to  become  a  Christian  now^ 

"Will  disobeying  God  put  you  in  a  Z^e^fer  state 
of  mind,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  have  not  much  deep 
conviction.  I  know  that  I  am  a  sinner  against  God, 
and  I  wish  to  turn  to  Him,  and  live  a  different  life." 

"  Then  turn  to  Him.     Now  is  the  accepted  time." 

"  But  I  find  my  heart  is  full  of  sin ;  I  am  all 
wrong ;  I  feel  an  opposition  to  God  such  as  I  never 
felt  before." 

"  Then  repent  and  turn  to  God  instantly,  while  it 
is  called  to-day." 

"  But  I  don't  suppose  I  can  be  ready  to  come  to 
religion  so  quicks 

"  You  said  you  was  determined  to  put  it  off  no 
longer,  and  I  told  you  '  now  is  the  accepted  time.'  " 
15* 


346         delay:    or,  the    accepted   time. 

"  But  I  never  began  to  think  seriously  about  my 
religion  till  last  Sunday." 

"  And  so  you  want  to  put  it  off  a  little  longer." 
"  Why  I  want  to  get  ready ^ 
"  And  are  you  getting  ready  ?     You  have  tried 
it  for  a  week." 

"  No  sir,"  said  he  in  a  sad  manner,  ''  I  don't  think 
I  am  any  nearer  to  it  than  I  was  at  first." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are.  And  I  suppose  the  rea- 
son is,  that  you  don't  believe  '  now  is  the  accepted 
time.' " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do  ;  for  the  Bible  says  so." 
"  Then  don't  wait  for   any  other  time.     Eepent 
now.     Flee  to  Christ  now^  in  '  the  accepted  time.'  " 
"  I  have  not  conviction  enough  yet." 
"  Then  it  cannot  be  the  '  accepted  time'  yet." 
"  But  I  have  not  faith  enough." 
"  Then  it  cannot  be  '  the  accepted  time.' " 
"  Well,  sir,  I, — I, — I  am  not  ready  now  J'' 
"  Then  it  cannot  be  '  the  accepted  time'  now^ 
"  But  it  seems  to  me,  it  is  too  quick  J''  said  he 
earnestly. 

''Then  it  cannot  be  'the  accepted  time,'  and  the 
Bible  has  made  a  mistake." 

"But,  sir,  my  heart  is  not  prepared" 
"  Then  it  is  not  '  the  accepted  time.'  " 
With  much  embarrassment  in  his  manner,  he  re- 
plied,— 


delay:    or,  the    accepted   timr.         347 

''What  shall  I  do?'' 

"  Kcpent  and  turn  to  God,  with  faith  in  Christ  to 
save  you  as  a  lost,  unworthy  sinner,  now  in  '  the 
accepted  time.'  " 

He  appeared  to  be  in  a  great  strait.  He  sat  in 
silence  with  very  manifest  uneasiness  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  asked, — 

"Is  it  possible  that  any  one  should  repent,  and 
give  up  the  world,  and  turn  to  God  so  soon,  when  I 
began  to  think  about  it  only  last  Sunday  ?" 

"  *  Now  is  the  accepted  time,'  "  said  I. 

Again  he  sat  in  thoughtful  silence,  and  after  a 
time  he  asked  me, — 

"  Is  salvation  offered  to  sinners  nowP'' 

"  Yes,  now.     '■  Now  is  the  day  of  salvation.'  " 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  I  am  not  prepared  now  to 
give  up  the  world." 

"  That  very  thing  is  your  difficulty.  You  are  not 
prepared ;  but  '  now  is  the  accepted  time.'  You 
wish  to  put  off  your  repentance  and  conversion  to 
Christ  till  some  other  time  ;  but  '  now  is  the  accepted 
time.'  You  and  your  Bible  disagree.  And  if  no- 
thing else  kept  you  from  salvation,  this  would  be 
enough.  I  beseech  you,  my  dear  friend,  delay  no 
longer.  Now  is  God's  time,  '  Deny  yourself,  and 
take  up  your  cross,  and  follow  Jesus  Christ.'  You 
told  me  you  was  determined  to  put  off  religion  no 
longer.     I  suspected  you  did  not  know  yom*  own 


348    delay:  or,  the  accepted  time. 

heart,  and  therefore  said  to  you  '  now  is  the  accepted 
time.'  And  now  it  has  become  manifest,  that  you 
meant  to  put  off  rehgion  till  some  other  time,  all 
the  while." 

"  It  seems  hard  to  shut  up  a  man  just  to  the 
present  time,"  said  he,  in  an  imploring  accent. 

"  If  you  were  a  dying  man,  and  had  only  an  hour 
to  live,  you  would  not  say  so.  You  would  be  glad 
to  have  the  Bible  say  to  you,  '  now  is  the  accepted 
time,'  instead  of  telling  you,  you  needed  a  month  or 
a  week  to  flee  to  Christ.  It  is  mercy  in  God  to  say 
to  you,  '  behold  now  is  the  day  of  salvation,'  when 
you  do  not  know  as  3^ou  will  live  till  to-morrow 
morning." 

*'  Will  you  pray  with  me?"  said  he. 

I  prayed  with  him,  and  we  separated.  The  last 
words  I  uttered  to  him  as  he  left  the  door,  were, 
"  now  is  the  accepted  time." 

Just  one  week  afterwards  he  called  upon  me,  "  to 
give  an  account  of  himself,"  as  he  said, — 

"  I  have  got  out  of  my  trouble,"  said  he.  "  Now, 
I  trust  in  Christ,  and  I  am  reconciled  to  God,  or  at 
least  I  think  so.  I  thought  you  were  very  hard 
upon  me  last  Sunday  night,  when  you  hammered 
me,  and  hammered  me  with  that  text, — '  now  is  the 
accepted  time.'  But  I  couldn't  get  away  from  it. 
It  followed  me  everywhere.  I  would  think  of  one 
thing,  and  then  that  would  come  up,  '  now  is  the 


delay:     or,    Tlli:     ACCEPTED     TIME.  349 

accepted  time.'  Then  I  would  begin  to  tliink  of 
sometliing  else,  and  it  would  come  up  again,  '  now 
is  the  accepted  time.'  So  I  went  on  for  three  days. 
I  tried  to  forget  that  text,  but  I  could  not.  I  said  to 
myself,  there  is  something  else  in  the  Bible  except 
that ;  but  wherever  I  read,  that  would  come  to  my 
mind.  It  annoyed  me  and  tormented  me.  Finally, 
I  began  to  question  myself,  why  it  was  that  this 
plagued  me  so  much  ?  And  I  found  it  ^\^as  because 
I  was  not  willing  to  he  saved  hy  Christ.  I  was  trying 
to  do  something  for  myself,  and  I  wanted  more 
time.  But  it  was  not  done.  Everything  failed  me. 
And  then  I  thought,  if  '  now  is  the  accepted  time,' 
I  may  go  to  Christ  now,  wicked  as  I  am.  So  I  just 
prayed  for  mercy ^  and  gave  up  all  to  Him." 

The  idea  of  this  young  man  was  new  to  me  It 
had  never  entered  my  mind,  that  when  one  wants 
more  time,  it  is  '■^because  he  is  not  willing  to  he  saved 
hy  ChristJ^  I  suppose  that  is  true.  A  delaying  sin- 
ner is  a  legalist.  Self-righteousness  delays.  How 
little  the  procrastinating  know  about  their  own 
hearts  1 


A  MEMBER  of  my  church,  the  mother  of  a  family, 
was  sick,  and  I  visited  her.  In  conversation  with 
her  I  discovered  that  her  mind  was  shrouded  in 
darkness  and  gloom.  I  prolonged  the  conversation, 
hoping  to  be  able  so  to  present  divine  truth  to  her 
mind,  that  she  should  see  some  light,  and  gain  some 
comfort  from  the  promises;  or  if  I  failed  in  that, 
hoping  to  discover  the  cause  of  her  religious  dark- 
ness. But  it  was  all  in  vain.  I  left  her  as  dark  as 
ever,  without  discovering  the  cause  of  her  gloom. 

I  soon  visited  her  again.  She  was  the  same  as 
before.  "  Dark !  dark !  all  dark  !"  says  she,  in  an- 
swer to  my  inquiry.  "  I  have  not  long  to  live,  and 
I  am  sure  I  am  not  fit  to  die."  She  wept  in  agony. 
I  pointed  her  to  Christ,  and  recited  to  her  the 
promises.  I  explained  justification  by  faith  in 
Christ  Jesus,  the  undone  condition  of  sinners,  salva- 
tion by  free  grace,  the  offer  and  operations  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  the  readiness  of  Christ  to  accept 
all  that  come  unto  Him.  She  only  wept  and 
groaned. 


rnVSIOAL     INFLUENCE.  851 

Witli  mucli  tlie  same  result  I  conversed  with  her 
many  times.  I  could  but  imperfectly  discover  wliat 
liad  been  tlie  character  of  lier  religious  exercises 
while  she  was  in  health ;  but  she  despised  them  all, 
and  counted  them  only  as  deception.  When  I 
treated  her  as  a  backslider,  and  referred  her  to  what 
the  sacred  Scriptures  address  to  such  persons,  in- 
viting them  to  return  unto  their  God ;  the  very  free- 
ness  and  friendliness  of  the  invitations  appeared  to 
distress  her.  When  I  treated  her  as  a  believer 
under  a  cloud,  a  child  of  God,  from  whom  our 
heavenly  Father  takes  away  the  light  of  His  coun- 
tenance, for  some  reason  which  we  cannot  explain, 
— ^perhaps  to  manifest  His  sovereignty,  perhaps  to 
teach  us  our  spiritual  dependence,  perhaps  to  arouse 
our  efforts  to  draw  nearer  to  Him,  perhaps  to  teach 
us  deeper  lessons  about  religion,  and  give  us  richer 
experiences  as  He  leads  us,  for  a  time,  "in  a  way 
we  know  not," — all  these  ideas  appeared  to  increase 
her  distress.  If  I  treated  her  as  an  impenitent  sin- 
ner, it  was  the  same  thing.  Gloom,  distress,  despair, 
had  taken  possession  of  her  soul ! 

After  I  had  known  her  to  be  in  tliis  condition  for 
several  months,  I  called  upon  her,  and  to  my  sur- 
prise found  that  her  mind  was  calm;  her  despair 
and  distress  had  given  place  to  hope  and  gladness 
of  spirit.  She  could  trust  in  God,  she  could  submit 
to  His  will,  rejoicing  to  be  in  His  hands,  she  could 


352  PHYSICAL     INFLUENCE. 

rest  upon  the  siifficiency  of  her  Saviour; — "Jesus 
Christ  is  mine,"  said  she,  "  and  I  am  glad  to 
be  His." 

Three  days  after  this,  when  I  saw  her  again,  her 
light  had  departed,  and  all  her  former  darkness  and 
despair  had  returned.  A  few  days  afterwards,  I 
found  she  had  become  calm  and  hopeful  again,  and 
then  again  in  a  few  days  I  found  her  as  gloomy  as 
ever.  Thus  for  months  she  alternated  from  gloom 
to  gladness,  and  from  gladness  to  gloom.  I  could 
not  understand  it.  I  studied  her  case,  and  tried  in 
every  mode  I  could  think  of,  to  find  out  why  she 
should  thus  be  tossed  about  betwixt  hope  and  fear. 
But  I  studied  in  vain. 

After  awhile,  as  I  was  conversing  with  her  one 
morning,  when  she  was  in  one  of  her  happy  frames, 
I  recollected  that  she  had  always  been  so  whenever 
I  had  seen  her  in  the  morning,  and  had  always 
been  in  darkness  whenever  I  had  seen  her  in  the 
afternoon.  I  mentioned  this  fact  to  her,  and  asked 
her  to  account  for  it.  She  acknowledged  the  fact, 
but  made  no  attempt  to  explain  it.  I  explained  it 
to  her,  as  the  result  of  her  physical  condition. 
Every  morning,  she  awoke  free  from  pain,  and  then 
her  views  were  clear,  and  her  mind  comfortable. 
She  continued  in  this  comfortable  frame  till  nearly 
noon,  when,  as  her  pain  in  the  head  returned,  all 
her  peace  of  mind  vanished.     This  experience  was 


PHYSICAL     INFLUENCE.  863 

uniform  with  lier,  week  after  week ;  and  wlien  I 
now  called  her  attention  to  it,  and  explained  her 
religious  gloom  as  the  result  of  her  physical  state, 
she  was  satisfied  that  the  explanation  was  just. 
But,  a  week  afterwards,  when  I  saw  her  in  the 
afternoon,  her  mind  was  as  dark  as  ever;  and  then 
she  rejected  the  explanation  ;  she  could  not  be  made 
to  believe  that  her  darkness  was  owing  to  her  dis- 
ease. So  it  was  with  her,  week  after  week.  She 
had  a  comfortable  hope  every  morning ;  she  was  in 
despair  every  afternoon.  In  the  morning  she  would 
helieve  that  her  afternoon  despair  was  caused  by  her 
bodily  infirmity;  but  in  the  afternoon,  she  would 
entirely  c?^>believe  it.     Thus  she  continued. 

A  few  weeks  before  her  death,  and  when  her 
bodily  condition  had  become  different ;  all  her  dark- 
ness was  gone,  her  mind  continued  hght  through 
the  whole  twenty -four  hours ;  and  she  finally  died 
in  peace,  with  the  fall  hope  of  a  blessed  immortality 
through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

Despondenc}'  does  not  always  arise  from  the  same 
cause.  It  is  difficult  to  deal  with  it ;  but  there  is 
one  great  principle,  which  has  been  of  much  use  to 
myself,  and  which  has  some  illustration  in  the  fol- 
lowing sketch. 


Crotment  of  t|e  it^piiMitg. 

In  making  visits  to  the  sick,  I  became  acquainted 
with  a  woman  belonging  to  my  congregation,  with 
whom  I  had  very  little  acquaintance  before.  She 
was  in  a  very  distressful  state  of  mind.  "I  am  a 
sinner,"  says  she,  "lam  the  vilest  of  sinners!  I 
must  soon  meet  my  Grod,  and  I  have  no  preparation 
to  meet  Him !  I  see  before  me  nothing  but  His 
wrath,  His  dreadful  wrath  forever !  Indeed  I  feel 
it  this  moment  within  my  soul !  It  drinks  up  my 
spirit !  God  curses  me  now ;  and  oh !  how  can  I 
bear  His  eternal  curse,  when  He  shall  cast  me  off 
forever !" 

"  God  is  merciful^  Madam,"  said  I. 

"  I  know  He  is  merciful,  sir,  but  I  have  despised 
His  mercy;  and  now  the  thought  of  it  torments 
my  soul !  If  He  had  no  merc}^,  I  could  meet  Him  : 
I  could  take  the  curse  of  the  Law,  and  it  would  not 
be  the  half  of  the  hell  wliich  now  awaits  me  !  But 
oh,  I  cannot  hear^ — I  caniiot  bear  the  curse  of  the 
Law  and  the  Gospel  both  !  I  must  account  to  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  for  having  slighted  His  offers ! 


TREATMENT     OF     THE     DESPONDING.  355 

I  have  turned  a  deaf  eai*  to  all  His  kind  invitationsl 
I  have  trampled  under  foot  the  hlood  of  the  cov- 
enant !  and  I  am  soon  to  appear  before  Him,  my 
feet  wet  with  His  blood,  instead  of  having  it  sprin- 
kled on  my  heart !"  (She  wept  and  wailed,  as  if 
on  the  borders  of  the  pit.) 

"  Madam,  there  is  no  need  that  you  should  appear 
thus  before  Him.  The  same  offers  of  mercy  are  still 
made  to  you,  wdiicli  have  been  made  to  you  before. 
The  same  throne  of  grace  still  stands  in  heaven ; 
the  same  God  is  seated  upon  it ;  the  same  Christ 
reigns  as  Mediator ;  and  the  same  Spirit  is  still  pro- 
mised '  to  them  that  ask  Him.'  The  invitation  of 
God  is  as  broad  as  the  w^ants  of  sinners  :  '  Whoso- 
ever will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life  freely.'  " 

"  I  know  it,  sir ;  I  know  all  that.  And  this  is 
the  burden  of  my  anguish — the  offer  is  so  free,  and 
I  have  no  heart  to  accept  it !  If  the  offer  w^as  ac- 
companied by  any  difficult  conditions,  I  might  think 
myself  partly  excusable  for  not  accepting  it.  But 
it  is  all  so  free,  and,  fool  that  I  am,  I  have  all  my  days 
shut  up  my  heart  against  it;  and  even  now,  I  am 
rebellious  and  unbelieving.  Oh  !  my  heart  is  sense- 
less as  a  brute's  !  it  cannot  feel !  it  is  harder  than  the 
nether  millstone !" 

"I  am  glad  you  are  sensible  of  that;  because  it 
prepares  you  to  understand  the  promise,  '/  will  take 
away  the  stony  heart  out  of  youi'  flesh,  and  /  will 


356      TREATMENT  OF  THE  DESPONDING. 

give  you  a  heart  of  flesh,  and  /will  put  my  spirit 
within  you.'  Ood  says  this;  and  you  perceive 
He  makes  His  promise  for  just  such  hearts  as 
yours." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  believe  it !  My  heart  won't 
believe.  It  disbelieves  God !  It  makes  Him  a  liar, 
because  it  believes  not  the  testimony  which  God  gave 
of  His  Son!" 

"  Madam,  think  a  moment ;  if  you  did  not  believe 
that  testimony,  you  could  not  be  distressed  on  ac- 
count of  your  unbelief.  If  you  were  hungry,  and 
you  did  not  believe  there  was  any  food  upon  the 
earth,  you  could  not  be  distressed  because  you  did 
not  believe  there  was  food  enough.  You  might  be 
distressed  because  there  was  no  food,  but  you  could 
not  be  distressed  because  you  did  not  believe  there 
was  any  ;  you  would  not  wish  to  believe  in  a  false- 
hood, or  in  wliat  you  deem  a  falsehood." 

"  I  have  not  any  doubt  of  the  truth  of  God's 
Word,  sir ;  but  my  heart  does  not  trust  in  it.  It  will 
not  trust.     I  have  no  faith." 

"  You  have  sometimes  thought  you  had  faith?" 

"  Yes,  I  did  think  so ;  but  I  was  deceived.  I 
have  made  a  false  profession.  I  have  profaned  the 
Lord's  table !  When  I  was  a  young  woman,  in 
Scotland,  I  first  came  forward,  and  I  have  attended 
on  the  ordinance  of  the  table  ever  since,  whenever 
I  could.     But  I  see  now  that  I  have  been  only  a 


TREATMENT     OF     THE     DESPONDING.  357 

mere  professor — one  of  tlie  foolisli  virgins.  For 
forty  years  I  have  been  a  communicant ;  and  now, 
when  my  days  are  nearly  done,  the  Lord  frowns 
upon  me  for  my  sin.  I  feel  it ;  I  feel  it.  His  wrath 
lies  heavy  on  my  soul !  He  knows  I  am  an  empty 
hypocrite,  and  he  frowns  upon  me  in  His  awful  dis- 
pleasure !" 

"  How  long  since  you  found  out  that  you  had  no 
true  faith  ?" 

"  I  have  suspected  it  a  great  many  times,  but  I 
was  never  fally  convinced  of  it  till  since  I  have  been 
confined  to  the  house  with  this  sickness." 

"  Before  you  was  sick  did  you  enjoy  a  comfortable 
hope  in  Christ  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  did,  almost  always  after  I  made  my 
first  sacrament.  That  was  a  very  solemn  day  to 
me.  It  was  before  I  was  married.  I  was  nearly 
twenty,  and  my  parents  and  the  minister  had  often 
enjoined  my  duty  upon  me  ;  and  after  a  long  strug- 
gle with  my  wicked  heart,  and  after  much  prayer,  I 
thought  I  was  prepared.  But  I  deceived  my  own  soul ! 
I  have  been  deceived  ever  since  till  now ;  and  now 
God  fills  me  with  terror !  I  shall  soon  meet  him, 
and  he  will  cast  me  off!"     She  wept  piteously. 

"  Have  you  lived  a  prayerful  life  since  you  came 
to  the  communion  first  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  prayed  night  and  morning;  but  I 
see  now  that  I  never  played  acceptably." 


358     TREATMENT  OF  THE  DESPONDING. 

"  Are  you  penitent  for  your  sins  f  Do  you  mourn 
over  tliem  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  mourn  ;  but  I  have  '  only  a  fearful  look- 
ing for  of  judgment  and  fiery  indignation.'  My 
soul  is  in  torment !  God  will  cast  me  off !  I  shall 
be  lost  for  ever  !  lost !  lost  f 

"  It  is  a  faithful  saying  and  worthy  of  ALL  accep- 
tation, that  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save 
sinners." 

"I  believe  it,  sir.  He  is  a  great  and  glorious 
Saviour." 

"  Your  Saviour,  Madam,  if  you  want  Him  to  be." 

"  No  sir  ;  no,  not  mine  ;  not  mine."  (Again  burst- 
ing into  tears.) 

"  YeSj  Madam, —  Yours,  if  you  want  him; — ^yours 
in  welcome  ; — yours  now,  on  the  spot ; — yours,  if 
you  will '  receive  and  rest  upon  him,  as  he  is  offered 
in  the  Gospel;' — yours,  if  you  have  never  received 
him  before  ; — yours  still,  even  if  you  have  profaned 
his  covenant,  as  3^ou  sa}^,  for  forty  years.  You  have 
only  to  believe  in  Him  with  penitence  and  humility. 
Christ  is  greater  than  your  sin." 

As  I  was  uttering  these  words,  she  continued  to 
repeat  the  word,  "  No,  no,  no,  no,^^  weeping  most 
distressfully.     Said  I, — ■ 

"  Madam,  suffer  me  to  beg  of  you  to  hear  me 
calmly." 

"  I  will  try,  sir." 


TREATMENT  OF  THE  DESPONDING.      359 

"  I  utter  to  you  God''s  own  truth^  madam.  I  tell 
you  Jesus  Christ  is  for  you.  He  is  offered  to  }'ou  by 
the  God  of  heaven.  He  proposes  to  be  your  Pro- 
phet, Priest,  and  King,  to  do  for  you  all  you  need 
as  a  sinner  to  be  saved.  He  is  an  all-sufficient 
Saviour.  And  in  the  presence  of  his  merits,  /  defy 
your  despair.  Salvation  is  of  grace — of  God''s  grace, 
— of  grace  operating  in  the  infinite  love  of  God,  and 
by  the  infinite  humiliation  of  his  Son.  Here  is  ful- 
ness, the  fulness  of  God.  '  Christ  is  the  end  of  the 
law  for  righteousness.'  Jesus  Christ  did  not  fail  in 
his  attempt,  when  he  undertook  to  redeem  sinners. 
He  did  His  work  well.  His  love  brought  Him  from 
heaven,  and  took  Him  through  all  the  path  of  His 
humiliation,  from  the  cradle  to  the  gi^ave.  He  bore 
the  curse,  and  sinners  may  go  free.  He  reigns  in 
heaven,  the  King  of  glory,  and  sinners  may  meet 
Him  there." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  he  is  a  wonderful  Lord.  He  hath 
done  all  things  well.  I  am  glad  He  is  on  the  throne. 
When  I  can  catch  a  glimpse  of  His  glory,  m.j  heart 
rejoices." 

*'  And  His  glory  lies  in  grace.  Madam  ;  such  grace 
that  He  invites  you  to  cast  all  your  cares  upon  Him, 
for  He  careth  for  you." 

"  I  praise  Him  for  it ;  I  will  praise  Him  forever. 
I  rejoice  that  Christ  is  Lord  over  all." 

She  appeared  to  have  lost  her  trouble.     She  had 


360     TREATMENT  OF  THE  DESPONDING. 

become  calm ;  and  she  continued  to  speak  of  the 
love  of  Grod,  and  the  adorable  condescension  of 
Jesus  Christ,  for  some  minutes.  She  asked  me  to 
pray  with  her,  and  praise  God  for  His  wondrous 
grace.  After  prayer  I  left  her,  supposing  that  her 
despondency  had  been  but  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
would  not  return. 

The  next  week  I  saw  her  again,  as  she  had  re- 
quested me  to  do ;  and  I  found  her  in  the  same 
deep  despondency  as  before.  She  continued  to 
speak  of  herself;  and  all  I  said  to  her  gave  no  alle- 
viation to  her  anguish. 

Several  times  I  visited  her.  Uniformly  I  found 
her  depressed,  and  sometimes  left  her  rejoicing,  and 
sometimes  sad.     I  could  not  account  for  it. 

At  length  it  occurred  to  me,  as  I  was  thinking  of 
the  different  conversations  I  had  had  with  her,  that 
her  mind  had  uniformly  become  composed,  if  not 
happy,  whenever  I  had  led  her  thoughts  away  from 
herself,  to  fix  on  such  subjects  as  God,  Christ,  Re- 
deeming love,  the  covenant  of  grace,  the  sufferings 
of  the  Redeemer,  the  Divine  attributes,  or  the  glory 
of  God.  Afterwards  I  tried  the  experiment  with 
her  frequently,  and  the  result  was  always  so.  I 
finally  stated  to  her  that  fact. 

"  Oh,  yes  sir,"  said  she,  "  /  hnow  that  very  well. 
It  has  always  been  so  with  me  ever  since  about  the 
time  I  made  my  first  sacrament.     If  I  can  get  my 


TREATMENT  OF  THE  DESPONDING.      361 

mind  fixed  on  my  covenant  God  and  Saviour,  then 
I  can  rest.  But  liow  can  I  rest  when  I  have  no 
faith?" 

"But,  Madam,  can  you  not  remember^  in  your 
dark  hours,  Avhat  it  was  that  made  you  have  hght 
ones?  and  can  you  not  then  recur  to  the  same 
things  which  made  them  hght,  and  thus  get  hght 
again  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  cannot  see  the  sun  through  the  thick  clouds. 
God  hides  himself,  and  I  cannot  find  him ;  and  then 
I  mourn.  I  know  it  is  Satan  that  would  drive  me 
to  desj^air.  He  shoots  out  his  '  fiery  darts '  at  me, 
and  my  poor  soul  trembles  in  anguish.  I  cannot 
help  trembling,  even  when  I  Jcnow  it  is  Satan.  I 
have  such  awful  doubts,  such  horrible  temptations 
darting  through  my  mind,  and  such  blasphemous 
thoughts,  that  I  feel  sure  God  will  cast  me  off." 

This  woman  never  recovered  from  her  sickness ; 
but  the  last  ten  weeks  of  her  life  were  all  sunshine. 
She  had  not  a  doubt,  not  a  fear ;  all  was  peace  and 
joy.     Alluding  to  this,  she  said, — 

"  God  does  not  suffer  the  adversary  to  buffet  me 
any  more.  Christ  has  vanquished  him  for  me,  and 
I  find  the  blessed  promises  are  the  supports  of  my 
soul.  I  fly  to  them.  I  fly  to  Christ,  and  hide  my- 
self in  Him.  I  expect  soon  He  will  *  come  again 
and  receive  me  to  Himself,'  that  I  may  be  with  Him 
16 


362  TREATMENT     OF     THE    DESTONDING. 

*  where  He  is.'     I  shall  behold  His  glory,  and  Satan 
shall  never  torment  me  any  more." 
She  died  in  perfect  peace. 

There  is  a  difference  betwixt  the  despondency  of 
a  behever,  and  the  despondency  of  an  unbeliever. 
A  desponding  believer  still  has  faith.  It  only  needs 
to  be  brought  into  lively  exercise,  and  his  despond- 
ency will  melt  away.  He  becomes  desponding,  be^ 
cause  he  has  lost  sight  of  the  objects  of  faith,  and 
has  fixed  his  thoughts  upon  himself  and  his  sins. 
Let  the  matters  of  faith  be  brought  up  before  his 
mind,  and  they  are  realities  to  him^ — unquestionable 
realities.    He  only  needs  to  keep  his  eye  upon  them. 

The  despondency  of  an  unbeliever  is  different. 
He  does  not  des|)ond,  because  he  has  lost  sight  of 
the  objects  of  faith,  for  he  never  had  any  faith  ;  and 
there  is,  therefore,  no  preparation  in  his  heart  to 
welcome  the  doctrines  of  grace,  of  free  forgiveness, 
of  redemption  through  the  blood  of  Christ,  of  eternal 
life  for  sinners.  These  things  are  not  realities  to 
him.  His  faith  never  embraced  them.  When, 
therefore,  in  his  despondency,  whether  he  looks  at 
his  own  wickedness  or  looks  at  God,  he  sees  only 
darkness.  Especially,  the  love  and  mercy  of  God, 
the  death  of  Christ  for  sinners,  all  redemption,  are 
things  as  dark  to  him  as  his  own  soul.  He  does  not 
realize  them  as  facts ;  much  less  does  he  embrace 


TREATMENT     OF     THE     DESPONDING.  363 

them  for  himself.  In  the  self-righteousness  of  his 
spirit  he  desponds,  because  he  thinks  himself  too 
guilty  to  be  forgiven.  He  is  a,  mere  legalist ;  he 
sees  only  the  law^ — not  Christ. 

But  there  is  only  one  way  of  relief  for  believer 
and  unbeliever  in  their  despondency.  They  must 
look  to  Christ,  and  to  Christ  alone^  all-suf&cicnt  and 
free.  A  believer  has  a  sort  of  preparation  to  do 
this ;  an  unbeliever  has  an  obstinate  reluctance. 
He  thinks  only  of  himself  and  his  sins.  Nothing 
can  magnify  equal  to  melancholy,  and  nothing  is  so 
monotonous.  A  melancholy  man  left  to  himself, 
and  the  sway  of  his  melancholy,  will  not  have  a  new 
thought  once  in  a  month.  His  thoughts  will  move 
round  and  round  in  the  same  dark  circle.  This  will 
do  him  no  good.     He  ought  to  get  out  of  it. 

Despondency  originates  from  piiysical  causes  more 
than  from  all  other  causes.  Disordered  nerves  are 
the  origin  of  much  religious  despair,  when  the  indi- 
vidual does  not  suspect  it ;  and  then  the  body  and 
mind  have  a  reciprocal  influence  upon  each  other, 
and  it  is  difficult  to  tell  which  influences  the  other 
most.  The  physician  is  often  blamed,  when  the 
fault  lies  in  the  minister.  Depression  never  benefits 
body  or  soul.     "  We  are  saved  by  hope." 


liikiioton  frai^nre  of  tl]^  SjJirit. 

As  I  was  passing  along  the  street  one  morning,  I 
saw  a  lady,  a  member  of  my  churcli,  just  leaving 
her  house,  and  I  supposed  she  would  probably  be 
absent  a  half  an  hour  or  more, — ^long  enough  for 
me  to  accomplish  what  I  had  often  desired.  There 
was  a  young  woman,  a  member  of  her  family,  who 
was  very  beautiful,  and  reputed  to  be  quite  gay,  to 
whom  I  had  sometimes  spaken  on  the  subject  of 
religion,  but  I  had  never  found  any  opportunity  to 
speak  to  her  alone.  I  had  thought  that  she  was 
embarrassed  and  somewhat  confused  by  the  pres- 
ence of  this  lady,  whenever  I  had  mentioned  the 
subject  of  religion  to  her,  and,  therefore,  I  was  glad 
to  seize  this  opportunity  to  see  her  alone, — such  an 
opportunity  as  I  thought  the  lady  indisposed  to 
furnish  me. 

I  rang  the  bell,  and  the  young  woman  soon  met 
me  in  the  parlor.  I  then  felt  some  Httle  embarrass- 
ment myself,  for  I  had  rushed  into  this  enterprise 
through  an  unexpected  occurrence,  and  without 
much  premeditation  of  the  manner  in  which   it 


UNKNOWN    PRESENCE    OF    THE    SIM  HIT.  365 

would  be  most  wise  for  me  to  proceed.  I  expected 
a  cold  reception,  if  not  a  repulse,  I  deemed  lier  a 
very  careless,  volatile  girl.  I  thought  she  would 
be  unwilling  to  have  me  urge  the  claims  of  religion 
upon  her ;  and  the  idea  that  much  depended  upon 
the  manner  in  which  I  should  commence,  embar- 
rassed me  for  a  moment.  But  I  soon  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  I  owed  it  to  honesty  and  truth,  to 
my  own  reputation  for  frankness,  and  to  my  young 
friend  herself,  to  tell  her  plainly  what  was  my  in- 
tention in  then  calling  to  see  her.  I  did  so,  in  the 
most  direct  manner  possible. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  she.  "  I  have 
wanted  to  see  3^ou  for  a  good  while  ;  for  I  want  to 
tell  you  my  feelings.  I  thank  you  for  thinking  of 
me,  and  being  so  kind  as  to  come  and  see  me.  I 
should  have  gone  to  your  house  many  a  time,  when 
you  have  so  often  invited  persons  like  me  ;  but  when 
the  hour  came,  my  courage  always  failed  me,  for  I 
did  not  know  what  to  say  to  you.  I  am  in  trouble 
and  know  not  what  to  do  ;  I  am  very  glad  of  this  op- 
portunity." She  opened  to  me  her  whole  heart  in 
the  most  frank  and  confiding  manner.  Among  other 
things  she  said,- — • 

"  I  know  I  have  been  a  thoughtless  girl,"  (while 
her  voice  trembled,  and  tears  dimmed  her  eyes,)  "  I 
have  been  gay  and  have  done  many  things  you 
would  condemn,  I  suppose  ;  but,  my  dear  minister, 


366  UNKNOWN    PRESENCE    OF    THE    SPIRIT. 

I  have  been  urged  into  gaiety^  when  my  heart  was  not 
there.  I  do  not  believe  I  am  such  a  girl  as  tliey 
think  I  am,  may  I  say,  as  you  think  I  am  ?  I  know 
I  have  a  wicked  heart,  and  have  too  much  forgotten 
God ;  but  I  have  often  wondered  what  there  is  about 
me,  that  makes  my  religious  friends   think  that  I 

care  for  nothing  but "     She  sprang  from  her 

seat,  clasped  her  hands  upon  her  face,  and  hurried 
out  of  the  room,  sobbing  aloud. 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned.  "  I  know  you 
will  pardon  me  for  this,"  said  she,  the  tears  still 
coursing  down  her  cheeks,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  make 
any  excuse  for  my  sins,  nor  do  I  wish  to  blame  any 
one  for  supposing  me  thoughtless  ;  but  I  am  sure  / 
want  to  be  led  in  the  right  way,  /  am  ready  to  do 
all  you  tell  me.     I  hope  I  can  be  saved  yet." 

*'  Certainly  you  can  be,  my  child." 

"  Then  tell  me,  sir,  what  to  do." 

I  did  tell  her,  and  left  her,  one  of  the  most  grate- 
fal  and  affectionate  creatures  that  ever  lived. 

As  I  took  my  leave  of  her  and  found  myself  again 
in  the  street,  I  commenced  my  old  business  of  street 
meditation.  My  first  emotion  was  gladness,  the  se- 
cond shame :  for  I  was  ashamed  of  myself;  that  I 
had  just  been  thinking  of  that  young  girl  so  differ- 
ently from  what  she  deserved,  and  that  I  should 
have  gone  into  her  presence,  and  opened  my  lips  to 
her  with  no  more  faith  in  God.     The  next  reflection 


UNKNOWN    TRESENCE    OF    THE    SPIRIT.  3CV 

was,  how  inucli  more  common  tlian  we  think,  are 
the  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  God  does  often 
what  we  never  give  Him  credit  for  doing.  The  in- 
fluences of  the  Iloly  Spirit  are  more  common  than 
our  unbelief  allows  us  to  think. 

The  inquiry  then  came  into  my  mind,  may  there 
not  be  others  of  my  congregation  who  would  wel- 
come me  also  ?  I  stopped  in  my  tracks,  and  looked 
around  me  for  another  house  to  enter.  I  saw  one  ; 
I  rang  the  bell,  and  asked  for  the  elder  of  two 
sisters,  a  girl  of  about  nineteen  I  suppose,  and  re- 
puted to  be  very  fond  of  gaiety.  She  soon  met  me, 
and  I  immediately  told  her  why  I  had  come. 

"  And  I  thank  you  for  coming,"  said  she.  "  I  am 
glad  you  have  spoken  to  me  about  religion.  Why 
did  you  not  do  it  before  ?  I  could  not  go  to  your 
house.  I  know  it  is  my  duty  to  seek  Christ,  and  I 
do  want  to  be  a  Christian." 

After  some  conversation  with  her,  in  the  whole 
of  which  slie  was  very  frank,  and  in  the  course  of 
which  she  became  very  solemn,  I  asked  for  her 
sister. 

''Yes  sir,  I  will  call  her.  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
to  see  her  ;  but  dont  tell  her  anything  about  meJ'' 

"  Her  sister  came ;  and  as  the  elder  one  was 
about  to  leave  the  room,  I  begged  the  younger  one's 
permission  for  her  to  remain,  stating  to  her  at  the 
some  time  why  I  had  asked  to  see  her.     She  con- 


368  UNKNOWN    PRESENCE    OF    THE    SPIRIT. 

sented,  and  the  elder  sister  remained,  I  thought, 
gladly. 

I  then  stated  to  the  younger  my  message,  and  hav- 
ing explained  her  condition  to  her  as  a  sinner,  and 
explained  the  mercy  of  God  through  Jesus  Christ,  I 
was  urging  her  to  accept  the  proffered  salvation, 
when  she  became  much  affected ;  she  turned  pale, 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands, — "  I  will  try  to 
seek  God,"  said  she  sobbing  aloud.  The  elder 
sister,  who  had  delicately  taken  her  seat  behind  her 
so  as  not  to  be  seen  by  her,  clasped  her  hands  to- 
gether, overcome  with  her  emotions,  and  lifted  her 
eyes  to  heaven,  while  the  tears  of  gladness  coursed 
down  her  beautiful  cheeks,  as  she  sat  in  silence  and 
listened  to  us. 

I  prayed  with  them,  and  soon  found  myself  again 
in  the  street. 

I  immediately  entered  another  house,  in  like  man- 
ner, and  for  the  same  reason  as  before ;  and  another 
unconverted  sinner  met  me  with  the  same  mingled 
gladness  and  anxiety,  manifesting  the  same  readi- 
ness to  seek  the  Lord. 

By  this  time  I  had  given  up  all  thought  of  finish- 
ing a  sermon  which  was  to  have  been  completed 
that  day ;  for  if  I  could  find,  among  my  unconvert- 
ed parishioners,  such  instances  of  readiness  and  de- 
sire to  see  me,  I  thought  my  duty  called  me  to  leave 
my  study  and  my  sermons  to  take  care  of  them- 


UNKNOWN    PRESENCE    OP    THE    SPIRIT.  369 

selves,  and  to  trust  in  God  for  the  preparation  I 
should  be  able  to  make  for  the  pulpit  on  the  coming 
Lord's  day.  I  therefore  went  to  another  house,  and 
inquired  for  another  acquaintance,  who  was  not  a 
member  of  the  church.  I  did  not  find  her.  But  in 
the  next  house  after  that^  which  I  entered,  I  found 
another  of  mj  young  friends,  who  told  me  she  never 
had  paid  any  particular  attention  to  the  demands 
and  offers  of  the  gospel,  but  that  she  would  "  neglect 
it  no  longer  ;^^ — ^^  I  ivill^  sir,  attend  to  my  salvation," 
said  she,  "  as  well  as  I  know  how." 

Here,  then,  I  had  found  five  young  persons,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  hours,  all  of  whom  were  "almost 
persuaded  to  be  Christians."  They  all  afterwards 
became  the  hopeful  subjects  of  grace ;  and  within 
six  months  of  that  morning  were  received  as  mem- 
bers of  the  church.  I  knew  them  all  intimately  for 
years,  prayerful,  happy  Christians. 

The  strivings  of  the  Holy  Spirit  are  more  common 
than  we  think.  If  unconverted  sinners  would  im- 
prove these  secret  calls,  none  of  them  would  be  lost. 
These  persons  had  been  awakened  before.  Proba- 
bly at  tliis  time,  as  formerly,  they  would  have  gone 
back  again  to  indifference,  had  not  their  seriousness 
been  discovered  and  confirmed.  It  is  important  to 
'  watch  for  souls.' 


An  aged  woman,  a  member  of  my  cTiurcli, 
wliom  I  frequently  met,  always  appeared  to  me  to 
have  a  more  tlian  common  interest  in  the  prosperity 
of  religion  ;  and  whenever  I  saw  her  she  had  some- 
thing to  say  in  respect  to  the  success  of  the  gospel. 
Her  heart  appeared  to  be  bound  up  in  the  welfare 
of  the  church.  She  would  often  inquire,  "  are  any 
of  our  young  people  coming  to  Christ  ?" 

One  day  as  I  was  passing  her  house  she  called 
me  in.  Says  she,  "  I  asked  you  to  come  in  here 
because  I  wanted  to  tell  you  a  Revival  is  coming." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  said  I. 

"  We  shall  have  a  Revival  here,"  says  she  "  be- 
fore another  year  is  past." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  said  I. 

"  Dear  me,"  says  she,  "  now  don't  think  me  one 
of  that  sort  of  folks,  who  think  themselves  particu- 
lar favorites  of  the  Lord,  as  if  they  were  inspired ; 
I'm  none  of  that  sort,  by  a  great  deal.  But  I  have 
got  faith,  and  I  have  got  eyes  and  ears,  and  I  believe 
in  prayer.     Perhaps  you  may  think  me  too  certain, 


A     REVIVAL     IS     COMING.  37l 

but  I  tell  you  a  Revival  is  coming ;  and  I  don't  know 
it  by  any  miracle  either,  or  because  I  am  any  better 
than  other  people,  or  nearer  to  God.  But,  for  this  good 
while,  every  day  when  I  have  been  out  in  my  gar- 
den, I  have  heard  that  old  deacon,"  (pointing  to  his 
house,)  ''  at  prayer  up  in  his  chamber,  where  he 
thinks  nobody  hears  him.  The  window  is  open  just 
a  little  way  off  from  my  garden,  and  I  hear  him 
praying  there  every  day.  He  is  not  able  to  leave 
his  house  much  you  know,  because  he  has  got  only 
one  leg ;  but  if  he  can't  work  he  can  pray  ;  and  his 
prayers  will  be  answered.  I  am  sure  a  Revival  is 
coming,  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  some  of 
his  children  should  be  converted.  I  am  not  so  fool- 
ish as  to  think  I  am  a  prophet,  or  to  think  I  know 
the  secrets  of  the  Lord.  I  am  none  of  your  fanatics. 
But  remember,  I  tell  you  a  Revival  is  coming.  God 
answers  prayer.     You  will  see." 

A  Revival  did  come.  Before  a  year  from  that 
time  more  than  a  hundred  persons  in  that  congre- 
gation were  led  to  indulge  the  hope,  that  they  had 
been  "born  of  the  Spirit."  Among  them  were  a 
son  and  a  daughter  of  that  old  man  of  prayer,  and 
a  grandson  of  this  woman  who  "  believed  in  prayer." 

There  was  no  miracle  or  inspiration  in  this  aged 
woman's  confidence.  She  employed  only  faith, 
ana  her  own  careful  observation.  "  God  answers 
prayer,"    says    she ;    and    she    had    noticed    that 


372  A     REVIVAL     IS     COMING. 

earnest  prayer  was  offered,  sucli  as  had  prevailed 
before. 

She  was  not  so  singular  as  she  supposed.  Others 
expressed  the  same  confidence,  and  about  the  same 
time,  and  for  a  similar  reason.  One  of  them  said  to 
me,  "I  notice  hoio  they  pray  ^  at  the  prayer-meeting 
in  the  school-house  up  Bridge  street,  every  Tuesday 
night."     God  does  answer  prayer. 

Much  that  is  foolish,  fanatical  and  wicked,  has 
been  preached  and  published  about  prayer  for  Ee- 
vivals,  within  the  last  twenty -five  years.  Men  have 
maintained  that  the  prayer  of  faith  will  produce  a 
Eevival  at  any  time,  and  in  any  place.  And  the 
prayers  which  have  been  offered  on  that  principle 
have  sometimes  been  shocking  to  contemplate; 
while  the  fanatical  "  Revivals,"  (so-called,)  which 
have  followed  them,  have  done  inconceivable  mis-. 
chiefs.  A  spurious  spirit  has  crept  into  the  church, 
and  spurious  conversions  have  deceived  many.  Said 
a  minister  of  no  small  notoriety  to  his  congTCgation, 
"  they  accuse  me  of  trying  to  get  up  a  Eevival  here, 
and  I  am  going  to  get  up  a  Eevival  here,  so  help 
me  my  Maker."  Horrible  !  How  unlike  the  gos- 
pel— ^how  unlike  the  humble  spirit  of  reliance  and 
faith! 


As  I  was  one  day  in  familiar  conversation  with  a 
man,  who  was  a  member  of  my  church,  and,  as  we 
all  thought,  was  one  of  the  most  faitliful  and  happy 
Christians  among  us;  he  surprised  me,  by  a  half 
desponding  expression  about  himself.  On  my  in- 
quiring what  he  meant,  he  frankly  told  me  what 
had  been  his  experience,  in  respect  to  his  comforts 
of  hope. 

He  said,  that  he  entertained  a  hope  in  Christ,  and 
united  with  the  church,  when  he  was  a  young  man. 
He  was  now  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  still  re- 
tained his  hope.  "I  believe  I  am  a  Christian,"  said 
he,  "but  I  am  not  the  happy  Christian  that  I  once 
was."  He  then  went  on  to  tell  me  more  particularly 
the  history  of  his  heart.  He  said,  that  for  some 
time  after  he  made  a  public  profession  of  religion, 
his  faith  became  more  and  more  established,  and  his 
hope  more  fixed  and  clear ;  till  he  finally  arrived 
at  a  full  assurance  of  his  gracious  state,  and  lived 
for  some  years  in  perfect  peace,  and  commonly  in 
the  sweetest  joy  and  delight.     As  tliese  happy  years 


374  THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION. 

glided  by,  lie  never  was  troubled  with  a  single  donbt 
about  his  piety,  he  had  no  dark  days,  no  discour- 
agements, not  an  hour's  interruption  of  his  precious 
communion  with  God. 

Several  years  had  passed  away  in  this  happy 
manner,  when  a  melancholy  change  came  over  him. 
He  recollected  well  the  time,  and  remembered  it 
with  deep  distress.  He  said,  that  he  and  several 
other  members  of  the  church,  after  some  conversa- 
tion about  the  state  and  prospects  of  religion  in  the 
congregation,  agreed  to  hold  a  meeting  for  confer- 
ence and  prayer,  in  a  familiar  way.  They  held  it. 
"It  was  a  precious  meeting,"  said  he,  "or,  at  least, 
it  was  so  to  me.  My  fai1?h  was  strengthened,  my 
joy  was  great." 

Just  at  this  time,  filled  with  gratitude  and  love  on 
account  of  God's  gracious  goodness  to  him,  he  re- 
solved most  solemnly  that  he  "  would  be  more 
faithful."  "  But,"  said  he,  with  the  deepest  solem- 
nity and  sadness,  "  /  did  not  keep  that  resolution. 
And  since  that  time,  I  have  never  been  able  to  get 
back  my  former  assurance  and  peace  with  God !  I 
have  a  hope,  a  strong  hope,  but  my  former  peace  is 
gone !  I  have  prayed,  and  repented,  and  labored, 
to  get  near  to  God  ;  but  I  have  never  been  able  to 
rejoice  in  such  happiness  as  I  used  to  have !" 

In  answer  to  my  question,  he  replied, — ■ 

"  No,  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  indulgence  in  sin, 


THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION',  375 

though  T  sin  every  hour ;  nor  do  T  know  as  I  was 
unfiiithful  in  any  one  thing  in  particular.  I  do  not 
know  why  God  frowns  upon  me  so  long;  but  I 
know  I  did  not  keep  my  resolution,  and  my  enjoy- 
ment in  religion  is  very  much  gone !" 

"  Perhaj^s,"  said  I,  "you  have  sought  enjoyment 
too  much." 

"  I  thought  of  that  years  ago,"  said  he,  ''  and  left 
off  seeking  for  it,  in  any  other  way,  than  in  serving 
God." 

"  Perhaps  you  think  too  much  of  your  service," 
said  I,  "  and  too  little  of  the  free  gTace  of  Christ." 

"  I  think  not,"  he  replied.  "  I  never  put  my  du- 
ties into  the  place  of  Christ,  betwixt  me  and  God." 

"Do  you  receive  Christ  as  your  own  Saviour?" 

"  I  think  so :  if  I  did  not^  I  should  despair.  I 
have  hope  in  Christ ;  but  I  live  on,  with  a  saddened 
heart.  And  now,  whenever  I  find  Christians  re- 
joicing, I  always  want  to  caution  them  not  to  be 
unfaithful,  as  I  have  been." 

"  Do  you  doubt  the  reality  of  your  conversion  to 
Christ?" 

"  No,  I  have  not  that  trouble ;  but  I  have  not 
such  delights  of  peace  and  joy  as  I  had  once." 

"  Do  you  expect  ever  to  attain  your  former  hap- 
piness ?" 

"  I  trust, — I  hope  I  shall  not  die  without  it.  I 
could  not  die  in  any  peace,  as  I  am  now !" 


376  THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION. 

"Is  not  all  tliis  darkness  your  own  fanlt?  Do 
you  believe  it  is  God's  will  tliat  you  should  go 
mourning  all  your  days  ?" 

"  I  know  it  is  my  own  faulty  tlie  result  of  unfaith- 
fulness and  broken  resolutions ;  but  I  do  not  know 
as  I  can  now  overcome  tlie  evil ;  I  have  tried  for 
years,  but  God  keeps  me  in  this  state." 

I  aimed  to  convince  him  that  God  did  not  "  keep 
him  "  in  it,  but  that  he  kept  himself  in  it.  Before  I 
had  finished  what  I  intended  to  say  to  him,  we  were 
interrupted,  and  at  that  time  as  well  as  on  several 
future  occasions,  he  avoided  saying  anything  to  me 
about  himself  in  the  presence  of  other  people.  I 
afterwards  asked  him  privately  why  he  avoided  the 
subject.  He  said  he  was  afraid  he  should  bring 
others  into  darkness,  and  injure  the  cause  of  re- 
ligion, if  he  spoke  of  his  trouble.  I  had  several 
conversations  and  arguments  with  him,  but  they 
seemed  to  be  useless  ;  he  would  reply,  "  God  keeps 
me  in  this  darkness."  I  proved  to  him,  both  by 
Scripture  and  by  argument,  that  God  did  not  keep 
him  in  it, — that  he  kept  himself  in  it.  It  might  tire 
the  reader,  if  I  should  record  here  the  half  of  the 
conversations  I  held  with  him.  Let  the  last  one 
suffice.  He  replied  to  what  I  had  just  said  to 
him, — 

"  I  think  I  have  faith ;  and  why  do  you  say  un- 
belief  keeps  me  in  darkness  ?" 


THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION.  377 

"  I  believe,  too,  that  you  have  faitli ;  but  I  be- 
lieve you  fail  to  exercise  it  on  a  |)articular  point,  on 
whicli  you  have  special  need  to  exercise  it." 

"  What  point  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Last  Tuesday  evening,"  I  replied,  "you  at- 
tended the  prayer-meeting  in  Bridge  street.  You 
offered  the  last  ]3rayer.  I  heard  you.  After  I  left 
another  prayer-meeting,  I  came  across  that  way,  in- 
tending to  make  some  brief  remarks  in  your  meet- 
ing, as  I  had  just  done  in  the  other ;  but  when  I 
got  to  the  door,  I  heard  your  voice  in  prayer,  (for 
the  door  was  open,)  and  I  did  not  go  in.  Just  at 
the  close  of  your  prayer,  I  walked  silently  away  in 
the  dark.  I  Avished  to  avoid  saying  anything  to 
any  one  who  heard  that  prayer.  I  beheved  that 
anything  I  could  say  would  do  more  harm  than 
good.     Do  you  recollect  how  you  prayed  ?" 

"  Ko,  not  particularly." 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you.  You  prayed  that  the 
Lord  would  convince  unconverted  sinners, — that 
He  is  infinitely  kind  and  gracious,  willing  and  wait- 
ing to  save  them  ;  constantly  calling  to  them,  '  tui^n 
ye,  turn  ye,  for  why  will  ye  die?'  You  prayed 
that  they  might  be  led  to  believe  in  God's  willingness 
to  accept  them,  to  adopt  them  as  His  own  children, 
and  make  them  blessed  in  His  love.  You  prayed 
that  the  Holy  Ghost  would  lead  them  to  a  right 
understanding  of  the  invitations  and  promises  of 


378  THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION. 

His  word,  so  tliat  they  might  know  that  '  a  way  and 
a  highway '  is  opened  to  them  into  His  full  love  and 
everlasting  favor.  Yon  prayed  that  they  might  see 
and  know,  that  if  they  were  not  happy  in  God's 
love,  and  in  the  hope  of  dwelling  with  Him  forever 
in  heaven,  it  was  their  own  fault,  because  they 
would  not  helieve  in  olir  blessed  Lord  and  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ,  and  turn  to  Him.  You  prayed  that 
anxious  sinners  might  hear  Jesus  Christ  saying  unto 
them,  'come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  In  this 
manner  you  prayed,  and  I  have  repeated  some  of 
your  expressions  exactly  as  you  made  them." 

"  I  recollect  it  now,"  said  he. 

"  Very  well.  ISTow  what  /  mean  by  your  not 
exercising  faith  on  an  important  point  is  precisely 
what  you  meant  in  that  prayer.  You  meant,  that 
what  God  Avas  waiting  to  give,  they  were  not  willing 
to  receive  ;  that  they  did  not  helieve  in  His  mercy  to 
sinners,  through  Christ,  and  did  not  come  and  ac- 
cept it  freely,  and  without  hesitation  or  fear.  You 
meant  that  they  might  be  happy  and  safe,  if  they 
would  flee  to  Christ  and  trust  Him ;  and  what  / 
mean  is,  that  you  prayed  exactly  right,  and  that 
you  3'ourself  ought  to  exercise  the  same  faith  and 
same  freedom  in  coming  to  Christ,  which  you  prayed 
that  they  might  exercise.  Precisely  the  same  peace 
and  joy  in  God  which  your  prayer  implied  as  offered 


THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION.  379 

to  tlieiii,  is  now  positively  offered  to  you,  and  in 
precisely  the  same  way.  You  ought  to  believe  this. 
You  ought  to  act  upon  it.  And  I  am  surprised,  that 
while  you  can  see  '  the  way,  and  a  highway  open' 
for  them,  you  cannot  with  the  same  eyes  see  it  open 
for  you." 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  like  them.  They  have 
never  sinned  in  the  way  I  did.  They  have  never 
known  peace  with  God,  and  such  enjoyments  as  I 
had  once." 

''That  may  be  true,"  said  I,  "but  you  make  a 
distinction  which  God  has  not  made.  Nowhere  in 
His  word  has  He  said  anything  to  imply  an  unwill- 
ingness to  be  reconciled  to  backsliders,  and  to  restore 
unto  them  the  joys  of  His  salvation ;  or  to  imply 
that  He  is  less  willing  and  ready  to  fill  them  with 
peace,  than  He  is  to  give  peace  to  unconverted  sin- 
ners who  turn  to  Him." 

"But  it  seems  to  me,"  he  replied,  "  a  greater  sin 
to  forsake  Him,  after  having  once  experienced  His 
gracious  love." 

"Let  it  seem  so,  then.  I  do  not  say  it  is  not. 
But  when  you  hesitate  to  believe  in  His  readiness 
to  forgive  you,  and  smile  on  you  as  He  used  to  do, 
I  say  that  you  '  limit  the  Holy  One  of  Israel,'  as  He 
has  not  limited  Himself" 

"  I  know  He  freely  invites  unconverted  sinners  to 
come  to  Him. ' 


380  THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION. 

"And  do  you  nottnowj  He  invites  backsliders  just 
as  freely  ?  How  often  He  called  upon  the  Israelites 
wIlo  liad  offended,  and  when  they  turned  to  Him 
restored  to  them  His  favor.  Just  so  He  treated 
David  and  Peter.  Just  so  He  has  treated  at  times 
almost  every  Christian  on  earth.  He  performs  what 
He  has  threatened  and  promised : — '  if  they  break 
my  statutes  and  keep  not  my  commandments,  then 
will  I  visit  their  transgression  with  the  rod,  and  their 
iniquity  with  stripes  ;  nevertheless,  my  loving  kind- 
ness will  I  not  utterly  take  from  him,  nor  suffer  my 
faithfulness  to  fail.  My  covenant  will  I  not  break, 
nor  alter  the  thing  that  is  gone  out  of  my  lips. 
Turn,  Oh  backsliding  children,  for  I  am  married 
unto  you.'" 

"  I  know  it  is  so  in  general,"  he  answered,  "but 
are  there  not  some  sins  that  are  exceptions  ?" 

"  iVo  ;  what  business  have  you  to  make  exceptions 
when  God  has  made  none  ?    Suppose  Martha  Lyman 

had  said  to  you,  just  after  your  prayer,  '  Mr.  P , 

I  know  the  way  is  open  for  sinners  in  general,  but 
are  there  not  some  sins  that  are  exceptions  ?'  what 
would  you  have  said  to  her  ?" 

"  I  should  have  assured  her  that  Christ  gives  a 
universal  invitation  to  all  sinners,  without  exception." 

"  Well,  give  the  same  assurance  to  yourself.  Will 
you  direct  others  in  a  way  in  which  you  yourself 
have  no  confidence  to  proceed  ?" 


THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION.  381 

"  Others  are  not  like  me." 

"Are  you  better  or  worse?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  am  a  great  deal  worse." 

"  What  if  Martha  Lyman  should  say  to  you,  '  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  a  great  deal  worse  ?'  Her 
*  seems  to  me'  would  be  as  much  in  place  as  your 
'  seems  to  me.'  Neither  of  them  proves  anything. 
The  question  is  not  how  '  it  seems  to  you,'  but  how 
it  seems  to  God — what  He  has  said,  and  we  are  to 
believe ;  what  provision  is  made  for  us  in  Christ." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  it  as  you  do ;  but,  somehow 
or  other,  I  cannot  get  out  of  my  darkness,  and  don't 
know  as  I  ever  shall." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  I;  "but  I  assure  you  the 
spirit  and  efforts  of  self-righteousness  will  never  help 
you  out." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  self-righteousness  that  keeps 
me  in  the  dark  ?" 

"  TJnqmstionahly^''  said  I. 

"  Then  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  explain  it 
to  me,  for  I  cannot  see  howT 

"  Precisely  as  the  self-righteousness  of  a  convicted 
sinner  keeps  him  in  the  dark,  when  he  is  'going 
about  to  establish  a  righteousness  of  his  own,  and 
has  not  submitted  himself  to  the  righteousness  of 
Christ.'  He  does  not  '  receive  Christ  and  rest  upon 
Him  alone  for  salvation,  as  he  is  offered  in  the  Gos- 
pel.'     He  tries  to  save  himself.     He  tries  to  be 


382  THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION. 

rigTiteo-iis  enough  to  be  saved;  and  if  tie  cannot 
think  himself  to  be  so,  he  desponds  and  wanders  in 
the  dark,  hecause  he  does  not  trust  Jesus  Christ 
And  though  you  trust  Jesus  Christ  for  eternal  hfe, 
yet  you  limit  your  faith,  so  that  you  do  not  trust 
Him  to  make  peace  for  you  now  ;  to  be  your  light, 
and  hope,  and  joy,  in  reference  to  your  unfaithful 
ness  and  broken  resolution.  That  sin  you  make  an 
exception.  You  do  it  in  the  spirit  of  self-righteous- 
ness ;  and  the  evidence  of  this  is  found  in  the  fact, 
that  you  think  God  keeps  you  in  the  dark,  because 
your  transgression  was  so  bad.  It  is  the  darkness, 
then,  of  self-righteousness.  On  that  one  point,  you 
have  a  self-righteous  spirit,  a  spirit  of  legalism^  to 
think  of  the  extent  of  sin,  and  weigh  it  and  measure 
it  by  Laio,  instead  of  exercising  full  faith  in  Christ, 
to  be  your  peace  with  God." 

''  It  may  be  so,"  said  he  ;  "  but  if  it  is,  I  am  not 
sensible  of  it.  It  appears  to  me,  that  I  am  not  look- 
ing for  any  righteousness  in  myself,  to  furnish 
ground  for  any  confidence  and  peace  with  God." 

"  You  think  so.  But  at  the  same  time  you  men- 
tion your  offense  as  a  very  bad  one,  and  your  case 
as  '  an  exception,'  which  shows  that  you  turn  (on 
that  point)  from  the  Oospel  to  the  Law^  in  the  spirit 
of  a  self-righteous  legalism.  You  do  not,  indeed, 
exult  in  self-righteousness,  but  you  despond  in  self- 
righteousness.      You  do  not  appropriate  Christ  to 


THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION.  383 

yourself  on  that  one  point,  and  accept  of  peace 
tlirougli  Him,  and  take  confidence  and  comfort  to 
your  lieart.  But,  on  the  contrary,  just  like  an  en- 
tire unbeliever,  and  in  his  spirit  of  legalism,  (which 
is  always  self-rigliteousness,)  you  think  of  the  mag- 
nitude of  your  offense,  and  thus  fall  into  darkness 
and  gloom.  Instead  of  this,  you  ought  to  think  of 
the  magnitude  of  Christ,  and  accept  Ilim  alone  as 
all  and  enouyli.'^ 

All  I  could  say  to  him  furnished  him  no  relief. 
He  continued  in  much  the  same  state  as  long  as  I 
knew  him,  one  of  the  most  faithful  of  believers,  and 
yet  one  of  the  most  sad.  A  pensive  gloom,  a  deep, 
and  settled,  and  heavy  sadness,  hung  almost  con- 
stantly over  his  soul,  which  all  his  faith  and  all  his 
hope  could  not  dispel !  His  hope  had  lost  its 
brightness,  his  faith  its  buoyancy ;  indeed,  both 
faith  and  hope  seemed  to  have  retired  in  a  great 
measure  from  his  hearty  and  lingered  only  around 
his  mind.  Melancholy  state  !  "  God  appears  to  me 
now,"  said  he,  "  a  great  way  off!  I  pray  to  Him 
from  a  distant  land ;  but  he  does  not  allow  me  to 
come  near!  Still  I  am  always  happy  at  prayer- 
meeting." 

I  found  it  impossible  to  persuade  him  to  feel  that 
he  might  come  near,  if  he  would ;  just  as  any  other 
sinner  might.  He  would  reply, — "  My  mind  is  con- 
vinced, but  my  heart  has  not  any  of  its  old  feelings 


384  THE     BROKEN     RESOLUTION. 

of  freedom  and  nearness  to  God.  But  I  mourn  in 
silence.  I  don't  wish  others  to  know  how  I  feel,  lest 
it  should  injure  the  cause  of  religion  !" 

This  good  man  may  have  been  mistaken  in  refer- 
ence to  the  primary  cause  of  his  loss  of  peace ;  but 
the  probability  is,  that  he  thought  rightly.  And  it 
is  probable,  too,  that  many  Christians  have  the  dis- 
tressful feelings  of  outcast,  and  distant,  and  disin- 
herited children,  by  reason  of  their  unfaithfulness, 
after  their  God  and  Father  had  given  them  peace. 
It  is  dangerous  for  a  child  of  God  to  let  his  heart 
wander  from  home.  Bitter,  bitter  are  the  tears  of 
unfaithfulness. 


c'lljat  tail  I  II 0? 


In  a  pleasant  interview  with  a  young  woman  of 
my  congregation,  who  had  recently  been  led  to  a 
hope  in  Christ,  she  particularly  desired  me  to  see 
her  brother.  She  had  had  some  little  conversa- 
tion with  him,  and  thought  he  would  be  glad  of 
an  opportunity  to  speak  with  me,  for  he  had  some 
difficulties  which  she  thought  troubled  him.  I  im- 
mediately requested  the  favor  of  seeing  him,  and  in 
a  few  moments  lie  came  to  me.     Said  I, — 

"  I  asked  to  see  you,  sir,  because  I  wished  to 
speak  with  you  on  the  subject  of  religion.  Have 
you  been  considering  that  subject  much  ?" 

"Yes  sir,  a  good  deal,  lately." 

"And  have  you  prayed  about  it  much?" 

"I  have  prayed  sometimes." 

"  And  have  you  renounced  sin,  and  accepted  the 
salvation  which  God  offers  you  through  Christ  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  have." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  it  was  not  for  one  thing  I  would." 

"  What  thing  is  that  ?" 

17 


386  WHATCAI^IDO. 

"  The  doctrine  of  election." 
"  How  does  that  doctrine  hinder  you  ?" 
*'  Why,  if  that  doctrine  is  true,  I  can  do  nothing." 
"  What  can  you  do  if  it  is  not  true  ?" 
"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  hesitatingly,  "  but 
what  have  /  to  do  ?     /  can  do  nothing.     It  is  not 
my  business  to  interfere  with  God's  determinations ; 
if  he  has  foreordained  whatsoever  comes  to  pass, 
as  the  Catechism  says  he  has." 
"  Well,  do  you  think  he  hasr 
"  Yes  r  said  he,  (with  an  accent  of  much  impa- 
tience.) 

I  then  tried  very  carefully  to  explain  to  him  our 
duty,  our  freeedom  of  will,  our  accountability,  God's 
gi-acious  offers  of  both  pardon  and  assistance ;  and 
that  God's  secret  foreordination  is  no  rule  of  duty 
to  us,  and  can  be  no  hindrance  to  our  duty  or  salva- 
tion. As  I  thus  went  on  in  the  mildest  and  most 
persuasive  manner  I  could,  his  countenance  changed, 
he  appeared  vexed  and  angry,  and  finally,  in  the 
most  impudent  and  passionate  manner,  exclaimed, — 
"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  such  stuff  as  that !  If 
God  has  foreordained  whatsoever  comes  to  pass, 
what  have  I  to  do  ?" 

"  Just  what  He  tells  you  to  do,"  said  I. 
"  I  can  do  notliing^'^  he  replied  furiously. 
''Did  you  eat  your  breakfast  this  morning,  sir?" 
*'Yes,  to  be  sure  I  did!" 


WHAT    CAN    I    DO.  387 

"  How  could  you  do  it,  if  God  has  foreordained 
wliatsoever  comes  to  pass?  you  can  do  nothing. 
Did  you  eat  your  dinner  to-day  ?" 

''  Yes,  to  be  sure ;  I  don't  go  without  my  dinner." 

"  What  did  you  eat  your  dinner  for,  if  God  has 
foreordained  whatsoever  comes  to  pass,  as  you  say 
he  has  ?  W  hat  have  you  to  do  ?  You  can  do 
nothing.     Do  you  mean  to  go  to  bed  to-night  ?" 

"Yes;  I  shall  try." 

"What  will  you  '^/-yfor?  What  have  you  to 
do?  You  can  do  nothing.  If  God  foreordains 
whatsoever  comes  to  pass,  it  is  not  your  business  to 
interfere  with  God's  determinations.  Will  you 
answer  me  one  question  more  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  do  you  say 'yes?'  What  have  you  to 
do  ?  You  can  do  nothing.  God  has  foreordained 
whatsoever  comes  to  pass,  and  you  have  no  business 
to  interfere  with  his  determinations." 

He  appeared  to  be  confused,  if  not  convinced ; 
and  after  a  few  more  words,  I  asked  him  if  he  could 
tell  me  plainly  what  he  himself  meant,  when  he 
said  he  could  do  nothing. 

"  iVb,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Can  you  explain  to  me  how,  in  your  view,  the 
foreordination  of  God  makes  yon  incapable  of  doing 
anything,  or  hinders  you  ?" 


388  WHAT    CAN    I    DO. 

He  hesitated  for  some  moments,  and  then  answer- 
ed,— 

"  No,  /am  not  able  to  tell  anything  about  it." 
I  then  carefully  explained  to  him  his  duty,  his 
freedom  of  will,  his  accountability  to  God,  and 
earnestly  strove  to  persuade  him  to  dismiss  his  cav- 
illings and  come  to  immediate  repentance,  as  God' 
requires,  and  as  a  rebel  against  God  ought  to  do, 
while  mercy  solicits  him  to  salvation.  He  seemed 
to  be  somewhat  affected ;  and  when  I  explained  to 
him  more  fully  that  the  foreordination  of  God  did 
not  take  away  his  liberty,  power,  or  accountability, 
he  appeared  to  be  convinced.  I  invited  him  to  come 
to  me,  if  he  ever  found  any  more  trouble  or  hind- 
rance, or  difiiculty  of  mind,  and  tell  me  what  it 
was.  But  he  never  came.  He  frequently  muttered 
some  objection  to  his  sister,  on  the  ground  of  pre- 
destination ;  but  he  never  afterwards  introduced 
that  subject  in  conversation  with  me.  Yet  I  was 
not  able  to  persuade  him  to  be  a  Christian ;  and 
now,  after  fifteen  years  more  of  his  life  have  passed 
away,  he  still  remains  in  his  sins  ;  entirely  neglect- 
ing all  public  worship,  manifestly  a  hardened  sinner. 

It  is  not  safe  for  a  sinner  to  trifle  with  Divine 
truth.  The  falsehood,  insincerely  uttered  as  an  ex- 
cuse, comes  to  be  believed  as  a  truth.  Sad  state, — 
given  over  to  believe  a  lie  1 


A  MAN  about  forty  years  of  age,  with  whom  I 
had  previously  but  a  slight  acquaintance,  called 
upon  me  one  evening,  in  the  greatest  anxiety  of 
mind.  Seldom  have  I  seen  a  man  more  agitated. 
He  had  become  suddenly  alarmed  on  account  of  his 
condition  as  a  sinner.  His  feelings  quite  overcame 
him.  He  wept  much.  I  answered  his  questions ; 
and  urged  him  to  repent  and  flee  to  Christ,  now  in 
the  '  accepted  time.' 

He  was  an  intelligent,  well-educated  man,  who 
had  seen  much  of  the  world,  and  evidently  had 
moved  in  good  society.  He  conversed  with  much 
fluency  and  correctness,  evidently  possessing  a  quick 
and  ready  mind.  His  parents,  as  he  told  me,  were 
communicants  in  a  neighboring  church,  and  until 
about  three  weeks  before  he  came  to  my  house,  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  attend  church  with  them. 
He  had  a  good  degree  of  intellectual  knowledge  on 
the  subject  of  religion.  He  was  evidently  a  man  of 
sound  understanding. 

He  continued  to  call  ujDon  me  frequently  for  some 


390  RELIGION     AND     RUM. 

montlis  ;  but  he  attained  no  peace  of  mind, — no  hope 
in  Christ.  I  was  surprised  at  this.  He  appeared, 
from  the  first,  so  sincere,  so  earnest,  attended  all 
our  religious  services  so  j)unctually,  and  in  all  re- 
spects manifested  so  much  determination,  that  I  had 
confidently  expected  he  would  become  a  Christian 
indeed.  And  as  lie  continued  in  much  the  same 
state  of  mind,  I  aimed  to  teach  him  the  truth  more 
carefully,  and  examine  into  his  views,  and  feelings, 
and  habits,  in  order  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  and  re- 
move the  obstacles,  (whatever  they  might  be,)  which 
kept  him  from  yielding  to  the  Holy  Spirit.  But 
I  could  not  even  conjecture,  why  a  man,  who  ap- 
peared to  know  the  truths  of  the  gospel  so  well,  and 
feel  them  so  deeply,  should  not  make  some  progress 
in  his  religious  attempts.  I  noticed  nothing  pecu- 
liar or  remarkable  in  him,  unless  it  was  some  degree 
of  fitfulness,  and  the  ease  and  frequency  of  his  tears. 
He  wept  more  than  I  had  been  accustomed  to  see 
men  of  his  years  weep. 

I  mentioned  his  case  to  one  of  the  of&cers  of  the 
church,  with  whom  I  knew  he  was  acquainted,  and 
requested  him  to  converse  with  him.  He  complied 
with  this  request.  He  had  several  conversations 
with  him  ;  but  he  was  disappointed  and  perplexed, 
as  much  as  I  had  been.  "  He  weeps,"  said  he,  "and 
that  is  pretty  much  all  that  I  can  say  about  him." 

A  few  weeks  after  this,  and  while  his  tearful 


RELIGION     AND     RUM.  391 

seriousness  continued,  I  saw  him  one  day  in  such 
company,  that  the  thought  was  suggested  to  my 
mind,  whether  he  did  not  indulge  himself  in  the  use 
of  intoxicating  drink.  I  made  inquiry  about  this, 
and  found  it  was  so.  The  next  time  he  called  upon 
me,  I  told  him,  as  plainly  as  words  could  possibly  ex- 
press it,  that  I  had  not  a  doubt,  but  his  drinking 
was  a  device  of  the  great  adversary  to  keep  him 
from  salvation.  He  appeared  to  be  surprised — did 
not  deny  drinking,  but  positively  denied  that  he 
ever  drank  to  any  excess.  I  aimed  to  convince  him, 
that  any  drinking  at  all  of  stimulating  liquors  was 
an  excess  for  Mm,  Again  and  again,  I  urged  him 
to  quit.  He  promised  he  would,  but  he  did  not. 
On  one  occasion  he  confessed  to  me,  that  he  had  re- 
sorted to  brandy,  in  order  "  to  sustain  himself,"  as 
he  expressed  it,  at  times  when  his  "  mind  was  bur- 
dened and  cast  down  with  the  thoughts  of  another 
world."  I  explained  to  him  the  folly,  the  danger, 
and  wickedness  of  dealing  with  his  serious  impress- 
ions in  that  way.  He  promised  to  do  it  no  more. 
But  he  kept  on, — he  lost  all  regard  for  religion, — he 
forsook  the  church, — and  now  he  is  ten  years  nearer 
death, — an  irreligious  man,  and  probably  an  intem- 
perate man. 

Mr.  Nettleton  once  said  to  me,  "  if  a  hard-drinking 
man  gets  a  hope,  it  will  be  likely  to  be  a  false  hope." 


C|^  Mnti  of  a  Conrpammt. 

On  Monday,  tlie  day  after  the  administration  of 
tlie  sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  a  young  man 
of  my  congregation  called  npon  me  in  great  agita- 
tion of  mind.  He  said  he  felt  that  he  was  "  a  great 
sinner,"  that  he  could  ''  not  bear  to  live  in  the  con- 
dition he  was  in,"  that  his  "  attention  had  been 
anxiously  turned  to  the  subject  of  salvation  several 
times  before,  but  he  soon  forgot  it  again,"  and  he 
*'  was  afraid  it  would  be  so  now."  Said  he,  "  I  have 
wanted  to  come  and  see  you  a  good  many  times, 
but  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it  till 
yesterday." 

I  was  not  surprised  to  see  him.  The  exercises 
of  the  communion  Sabbath  had  been  more  solemn 
and  joyful  for  the  people  of  God,  than  any  such  ex- 
ercises that  I  have  ever  witnessed ;  and  as  similar 
occasions  of  communion  had  often  before  been  times 
of  awakening  for  those  who  were  not  communicants, 
I  had  expected  that  the  same  things  would  be  expe 
rienced  now.  I  told  him  this,  and  aimed  to  make 
him  realize  the  solemnity  of  the  fact,  that  the  Holy 


THE    WORD    OF    A    COMPANION.  393 

Spirit  was  striving  with  him.  I  noticed  in  him  two 
things,  which  particularly  characterized  his  state  of 
mind, — the  depth  of  his  convictions,  and  his  fixed 
determination  to  turn  unto  God. 

As  I  was  to  leave  home  that  day,  and  should  not 
see  him  again  for  several  weeks,  I  took  the  more 
care  to  teach  him  the  gospel  truths,  and  to  impress 
them  upon  his  mind.  And  because  his  attention 
had  been  arrested  before,  and  he  had  gone  back  to 
indifference  ;  I  aimed  to  convince  him  that  his  dan- 
ger lay  on  that  very  spot,  and  his  only  security  was 
to  be  found  in  a  full  and  instant  determination  to 
'  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross  and  follow 
Jesus  Christ.' 

He  left  me,  and  such  was  my  impression  of  his 
fixed  purpose^  that  I  had  little  doubt  or  fear  about 
the  result. 

On  my  return  home  a  few  weeks  afterwards,  he 
immediately  called  upon  me.  He  came  to  tell  me 
of  his  happy  "  hope  in  God  through  Jesus  Christ 
my  Saviour  J''  as  he  emphatically  expressed  it. 

Some  months  afterwards  he  united  with  the 
church.  But  in  making,  at  that  time,  a  statement  of 
the  exercises  of  his  mind  at  the  period  when  he  first 
came  to  see  me  ;  he  mentioned  one  thing  which  aston- 
ished, instructed  and  humbled  me.  After  mentionuig 
his  anxieties,  his  sense  of  sin,  and  his  interview  with 
myself,  he  added,  "  that  day  one  of  my  companions 


394  THE    WORD    OF    A    COMPANION. 

spoke  to  me  on  the  subject  of  religion.  That  deter- 
mined me." 

This  was  the  turning  point  therefore.  /  thought 
he  was  "  determined  "  before :  he  thought  so :  he 
appeared  to  be.  Indeed  I  had  never  witnessed  the 
appearance  of  a  more  full  and  fixed  determination  in 
any  anxious  inquirer,  save  one  ;  and  it  was  the  very 
thing  which  gave  me  such  a  confident  expectation  of 
his  conversion.  But  I  was  greatly  mistaken.  His 
heart  wavered  and  hesitated  and  hung  round  the 
world,  till  one  of  his  "  companions  spoke  to  him." 
That  young  companion  was  the  successful  preacher 
after  all.  Suppose  that  "  companion"  had  not  spoken 
to  him;  what  would  this  young  man  have  done? 
We  cannot  tell ;  but  there  is  a  high  degree  of  proba- 
bility that  he  would  have  done  just  what  he  had  so 
often  done  before, — would  have  quenched  the  Spirit 
and  gone  back  to  the  world.  Such  companions  are 
greatly  needed. 

Salvation  ought  to  be  urged  upon  the  will^  the 
choice^  the  "  determination "  of  sinners,  up  to  the 
very  point  of  their  "  receiving  Christ  and  resting 
upon  him  alone  for  salvation,  as  he  is  offered  in  the 
gospel."  Such  an  urgency  is  never  out  of  place. 
The  will  is  wanting,  the  determination  is  wanting, 
in  every  unconverted  sinner,  whether  he  believes  it 
or  not.  The  Bible  has  it  right, — '  choose  ye  this  day 
whom  ye  will  serve.' 


The  sixteenth  day  of  March,  in  the  year  1831, 
was  observed,  by  the  church,  in  which  I  was  pastor, 
as  a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer.  This  appointment 
was  made  with  special  reference  to  the  out-pouring 
of  the  Holy  Spirit, — to  seek,  by  united  prayer,  the 
revival  of  God's  work  in  the  midst  of  the  congrega- 
tion. The  meetings  for  prayer  were  held  in  the 
church,  and  a  large  portion  of  the  members  were 
present. 

The  next  week,  as  I  was  returning  home  from  a 
rehgious  meeting  late  in  the  evening,  and  had  turned 
into  an  unfrequented  cross-road,  in  order  to  shorten 
the  distance  I  had  to  walk ;  I  was  startled  at  the 
sudden  sound  of  footsteps  behind  me,  which  seemed 
to  be  those  of  a  man  rapidly  approaching  me  in  the 
dark.  I  did  not  know  but  some  evil-minded  person 
might  intend  to  do  me  harm  in  that  obscure  place, 
and  under  cover  of  the  impenetrable  darkness  of  one 
of  the  darkest  nights  that  I  ever  saw.  I  did  not 
choose  to  ruUj  for,  in  that  case,  I  should  never  know 


396  FASTING     AND     PRAYER. 

why  I  was  so  hotly  pursued.  I  felt  glad,  that  I  had 
some  corporeal  strength ;  and  though  I  cannot  say, 
that  my  courage  very  specially  forsook  me,  yet  J 
had  no  particular  liking  fo]'  a  hostile  attack  and  a 
tussle  in  the  dark.  As  the  footsteps  so  rapidly  ap- 
proaching me  appeared  to  be  directly  in  my  rear, 
like  a  lover  of  peace  I  crossed  to  the  other  side  of 
the  road  ;  and  not  preferring  an  attack  in  the  rear, 
I  stopped  and  faced  about.  My  pursuer  espied  me, 
and,  without  slackening  liis  pace,  ran  directly  tow- 
ards me  across  the  street,  till,  coming  within  ten 
feet  of  me,  much  out  of  breath,  he  called  my  name. 
"  That  is  my  name,  sir,"  said  I.  He  came  close  up 
to  me,  panting  for  breath,  and  stopped  in  silence. 
After  a  few  heavy  and  rapid  breathings,  he  spoke. 
He  told  me  who  he  was,  and  why  he  had  run  after 
me.  He  was  a  young  man  of  my  congregation,  to 
whom  I  had  never  before  spoken.  I  did  not  know 
him  personally.  He  had  just  come  from  the  school- 
house  where  I  had  been  preaching ;  and,  not  willing 
to  be  seen  by  his  companions  speaking  to  me,  he 
had  waited  till  they  were  out  of  the  way,  and  then 
run  after  me,  through  tlie  obscure  street  into  which 
he  had  seen  me  turn.  He  wanted  to  see  me,  for  he 
felt  that  he  was  "  a  sinner  unreconciled  to  God,  and 
in  danger  of  hell."  "  What  shall  I  doT'  said  he  ; 
"  I  can't  live  so  another  week.  Is  there  any  way 
that  such  a  one  as  Jam  can  be  saved?" 


FASTING     AND     PRAYER.  397 

I  had  a  long  conversation  witli  him  standing 
there  in  the  dark,  (for  lie  did  not  choose  to  go  home 
with  me,)  and  I  found,  that  his  first  impressions  of 
any  particular  seriousness  had  commenced  in  the 
church,  on  the  Fast-day^  the  week  before.  He  'was 
an  apprentice  in  a  mechanic's  shop,  where  there 
were  more  than  a  dozen  other  irreligious  young 
men.  The  master  of  the  shop  (not  a  professor  of 
religion),  told  the  whole  of  them,  that  if  they  wished 
to  attend  church  on  the  Fast-day,  they  need  not 
work.  They  accepted  his  proposal.  And  as  he 
himself  afterwards  told  me,  that  was  the  reason  why 
he  went  to  church  that  day  himself.  He  said,  he 
"  did  not  expect  the  boys  would  take  his  offer,  but 
would  prefer  to  stay  at  home  and  work ;"  and  if 
they  had  done  so,  he  should  have  done  so  too ; 
"  but  when  they  were  all  going  to  church,"  says  he, 
**  I  was  ashamed  to  stay  at  home." 

That  young  man,  his  employer,  and  almost  the 
entire  number  of  those  young  men  in  the  shop,  be- 
came communicants  in  the  church  before  the  close 
of  that  year.  Thirteen  persons  were  received  into 
the  church,  whose  seriousness  commenced  that  day^ 
in  the  churchy  while  the  people  of  God  were  praying 
for  that  very  thing.  '  The  Lord  is  with  you  while 
ye  be  with  Him.'  'Before  they  call  I  will  answer; 
and  while  they  are  yet  speaking,  I  will  hear.' 


I  DO  not  deem  it  a  departure  from  the  purpose  or 
tlie  title  page  of  tliis  publication,  when  I  insert  the 
following  sketch  of  experience,  which  I  copy  from 
a  paper  which  lies  before  me.  The  author  of  it,  a 
clergyman,  is  still  living,  and  still  exercises  the 
functions  of  his  Pastoral  office.  He  here  writes  a 
little  sketch  of  his  own  sad  experience,  which  I  am 
permitted  to  copy  from  his  own  hand-writing,  though 
it  was  not  designed  for  publication,  being  in  a  letter 
to  a  friend.  As  he  has  here  explained  how  it  was, 
that  he  rose  out  of  the  dark  and  turbid  waters  of 
despair,  the  explanation  may  be  of  some  service  to 
others, — as  I  know  it  has  been  to  his  friend.  De- 
spair is  opposed  to  faith,  and  every  sinner  on  earth 
has  the  right  to  oppose  faith  to  despair. 

The  following  is  a  part  of  the  letter : 

*'  My  deak  friend, 

"  You  say  I  am  always  happy,  but  you  know 
little  about  me.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  obtrude 
my  griefs  upon  others,  for  awakening  a  painful  and 


GOD    reigns:    or,  derpair.  399 

useless  sympathy ;  and  I  have  sadly  learnt,  that 
there  may  be  griefs  utterly  beyond  the  power  of 
others  to  understand,  and  which,  therefore,  their 
sympathies  cannot  reach.  But  I  have  seasons  (and 
they  are  not  unfrequent),  when  my  soul  is  cast  down 
within  me.  I  am  sure  /  can  sympathize  with  any 
and  every  trouble  of  your  darkest  hours.     *    ^-    * 

"  It  is  not  a  year  since  I  found  myself  involved  in 
all  the  horrors  of  darkness.  I  had  hoped  that  such 
a  season  would  never  again  return  upon  me  ;  but  it 
did.  I  had  formerly  learnt,  that  ill  health,  or  rather 
nervousness  in  any  state  of  health,  has  a  great  in- 
fluence in  bringing  on  depressed  feelings  ;  and  at  the 
period  to  which  I  now  allude,  I  was  fully  conscious 
of  my  nervous  condition,  and  I  recollected  and  re- 
flected upon  its  influence.  But  this  did  not  help 
me  out  of  my  trouble.  Day  by  day  the  darkness 
settled  down  upon  my  soul,  deeper  and  deeper.  I 
could  see  no  light !  I  was  no  Christian !  The 
Bible  was  a  sealed  book  to  me  ;  Christ  was  as  a  fiction, 
and  salvation  as  a  dream.  Prayer  was  not  so  much 
of  a  mockery,  as  a  lie,  for  I  felt  that  I  did  not  be- 
lieve what  my  lips  uttered,  when  they  said  they 
called  upon  God.  I  did  not  believe  in  God.  I 
was  a  dark  sceptic.  I  could  realize  nothing ^  but 
my  own  wretchedness;  and  in  the  depth  of  that 
wretchedness  I  cursed  the  day  in  which  I  was  born  I 
Many  and  many  a  time  I  wished  I  never  had  been 


400  GOD   reigns:    or,  despair. 

born,  or  had  died  when  I  first  saw  the  light.  Many 
and  many  a  time  I  wished  myself  a  dog,  a  horse,  a 
stone,  anything  but  myself.  I  could  realize  nothing, 
rest  on  nothing,  believe  nothing. 

"No  pen  can  describe  the  horrors  I  endured. 
They  were  of  every  sort.  I  can  only  give  you  a 
few  hints  of  them. 

"  Blasphemous  thoughts,  not  lawful  to  utter  even 
here  ;  temptations  which  I  may  not  name,' — things 
that  would  freeze  your  blood,' — ^}'ea,  things  which 
made  me  feel  that  hell  itself  could  be  no  worse,' — 
would  be  darted  through  the  mind,  without  volition 
or  control !  My  poor  soul  was  their  s^Dort.  She 
had  no  power  over  them,  not  an  item.  She  was 
tossed  about,  like  a  leaf  in  the  storm,  helpless,  hope- 
less. At  times,  things  would  flash  over  my  mind, 
like  the  flashes  of  the  pit,  as  I  thought ;  for  I  could 
not  account  for  them  in  any  other  way.  It  was  as 
if  Satan  spoke  to  me,  to  jeer  at  m.e,  and  taunt  me, 
and  triumph  over  me  in  his  mahgnity : — '  where  is 
your  God  now  ?  what  do  you  think  of  prayer  now  T 
These  ideas  would  come  with  such  suddenness  and 
vividness,  so  involuntary,  so  surprising  to  myself, 
that  I  could  not  beheve  them  the  production  of  my 
own  mind  ;  it  must  be  that  Satan  was  permitted  to 
buffet  me,  and  expend  all  his  malice  upon  me,  giving 
me  a  foretaste  of  hell. 

"  In  my  agony  I  used  to  roll  upon  the  floor  of 


GOD     KEIGNS:     OR,    DESPAIR.  401 

my  study,  liour  after  hour,  in  despair,  thinking  it  a 
sin,  a  shame,  an  impossibility  for  me  to  make 
another  sermon.  I  knew  I  was  not  fit  to  preach.  I 
thought  I  should  be  only  acting  a  part,  only  playing 
the  hypocrite  knowingly.  I  would  have  relinquished 
the  ministry  if  I  could.  But  what  could  I  do  ?  I 
must  preach.  And  after  I  had  put  it  off  as  long  as 
I  could,  and  had  scarcely  time  enough  left  to  pre- 
pare for  the  Sabbath,  I  used  to  get  my  texts,  and 
enter  upon  the  composition  of  my  sermons,  feeling 
that  I  was  the  most  miserable  and  most  unworthy 
being  (iU  this  side  of  the  pit,  and  that  I  should  soon 
be  in  it.  When  I  got  engaged  over  my  sermons,  I 
used  to  forget  myself;  and  then,  as  my  thoughts 
were  occupied  with  the  truth  of  God,  I  would  be- 
come interested  in  the  study,  and  get  along  pretty 
well  till  Sunday  was  over.  I  would  preach  like  an 
apostle,  and  go  home  in  despair !  I  tried  every 
device,  but  no  relief  came. 

"  I  went  to  a  distinguished  clergyman,  and  told 
him  my  case.  He  was  kind  to  me.  He  said  some 
wise  things  to  me.  But  he  began  to  say  to  me,  that 
God  was  discij)hning  me,  to  prepare  me  for  some 
greater  usefulness :  '  Stop  1  sir,'  said  I.  '  I  cannot 
receive  that ! — I  canH  !  I  canH  !  It  does  not  belong 
to  me.  I  thought  of  that,  but  my  conscience  re- 
jected it  as  a  snare  of  the  devil,  to  keep  me  at 
peace  in  my  sins.'     I  told  him  I  knew  better ;  I  was 


402  GOD   reigns:   or,  despair. 

afraid,  and  had  good  reason  to  be  afraid,  that  I 
never  had  any  religion ; — I  could  not  live  so,  and 
certainly  I  could  not  die  so.  I  told  him  that  I  could 
comfort  others,  and  lift  them  out  of  such  troubles  as 
seemed  to  resemble  mine, — had  done  it, — was  skilled 
in  doing  it, — if  nothing  else,  I  could  beguile  them 
out  of  their  despair,  without  their  knowing  how  I 
did  it;  but  I  could  not  comfort  myself;  my  case 
was  different,  and  I  could  not  receive  the  same 
truths  I  preached  to  them.  The  ideas  and  promises 
which  cheered  them  could  not  cheer  me.  I  told 
him  I  had  often  thought  myself  like  the  man  of 
gloom,  who  applied  in  his  despair  to  some  friend, 
perhaps  minister,  and  his  friend  said  to  him,  '  divert 
your  thoughts, — take  exercise,  amusement, — go  to 
hear  Carlini  play,'  (a  famous  harlequin,  attracting 
crowds  at  the  time.)  '■  Alas !  sir,'  said  he,  in  de- 
spair, */  am  Carlini  myself!'  And  so  was  I.  I 
went  home  in  despair,  weejDing  along  the  street  as 
I  went. 

"  While  I  was  in  just  this  state,  perplexed,  agi- 
tated, tormented  night  and  day,  fearing  and  half 
expecting  I  should  become  a  maniac,  I  had  occasion 
to  take  a  woman  to  the  mad-house.  (She  would  go 
with  7ne, — ^lier  friends  could  not  manage  her.)  As 
I  rode  along  with  her  in  the  carriage,  and  conversed 
with  her,  I  felt  in  my  soul  that  /  was  more  fit  for 
the  mad-house  than  she !     I  left  lier  there.     As  I 


GOD     RETHNS:     OR,    DESPAIR.  403 

came  out,  I  looked  around  upon  the  grounds,  the 
trees,  the  sky,  and  knew  nothing,  and  doubted 
everything,  and  thought  of  myself^  my  torment  of 
soul  became  intolerable !  It  was  with  difficulty 
that  I  could  restrain  myself  from  screaming  out  in 
my  agony !  I  got  into  the  carriage  to  go  home. 
The  young  man  who  was  with  me  made  some  at- 
tempts at  conversation,  but  I  could  not  attend  to 
him ;  and  finding  my  answers  incoherent,  I  suppose, 
or  finding  me  mute,  he  looked  at  me  with  astonish- 
ment, nnd  afterwards  left  me  to  myself. 

"  We  rode  on.  I  could  realize  nothing — believe 
nothing.  I  did  not  believe  there  was  a  God !  I 
felt  that  I  was  sinking  down  into  the  madness  of 
despair  !  a  forlorn,  hopeless,  eternal  wreck  !  a  wretch 
too  wicked  to  live,  and  not  fit  to  die ! 

"By-and-bye  my  mind  began  to  question  and 
reason.  lam — that  is  certain.  These  are  trees — 
that  is  a  river — ^}^onder  is  the  sun.  All  these  things 
are  certain.  But  where  did  they  come  from  ?  They 
did  not  make  themselves,  /did  not  make  myself. 
There  is  dejyendence  here.  They  do  not  govern  them- 
selves. There  is  order  here.  The  sun  keeps  his 
place,  and  is  now  hiding  himself  in  his  west  in  due 
time.  '  There  is  a  God !  Yes,  there  is  a  God !' 
That  was  the  first  gleam  of  light.  I  held  on  to  that 
idea  ;  '  there  is  a  Ood^  there  is  a  God^  there  is  a  GodP 
I  kept  affirming  it  in  my  mind.     I  felt  I  had  got 


404  GOD   reigns:    or,  despair. 

hold  of  one  certainty^  and  I  would  not  let  it  go.     I 
could  believe  one  thing. 

"  In  a  moment,  (for  these  ideas  flashed  through  my 
mind  like  flashes  of  lightning,)  I  got  hold  of  another 
idea,  another  certainty^  and  then  linked  the  two  cer- 
tainties together.  It  was  order^  dominion.  God  has 
dominion.  Yes,  He  rules.  '  God  reigns  P  said  I. 
It  was  an  ocean  of  light  to  me  !  It  flooded  the  uni- 
verse !  '  God  reigns  !  God  reigns  I  God  reigns  /'  I 
kept  repeating  these  two  words  mentally,  '  God 
reigns!  God  reigns P  It  Avas  triumph  to  me.  It 
was  glory.  I  almost  leaped  from  the  carriage.  I 
groaned  aloud  under  the  burden  of  my  joy.  (The 
young  man  started  up  and  gazed  at  me.  I  did  not 
notice  him.)  I  held  on  to  the  idea.  '  God  reigns  P 
said  I.  I  dared  not  let  it  go ;  '  God  reigns  P  I 
dared  not  let  any  other  idea  enter  my  mind  ;  '  God 
reigns  !  God  reigns  !  God  reigns  P  said  my  exulting 
soul. 

"  Then  came  a  contest  within  me, — a  conflict  like 
the  clash  between  thousands  of  opposing  sabres !  I 
felt  the  full  power  of  my  idea,  if  I  could  but  hold 
it ;  but  the  assaults  that  were  made  upon  it  came 
lilvc  the  shock  of  battle  !  One  thought  after  another 
seemed  to  heave  over  my  soul,  like  the  waves,  to 
dash  me  from  my  rock !  You  are  a  lost  sinner ; 
vile — a  wretch  !  '  God  reigns  P  said  my  soul.  You 
are  a  hypocrite  !     '  God  reigns  P  said  my  soul.   You 


GOD   reigns:    or,   despair.  405 

are  a  fool !  '  Ood  reigns  P  You  are  a  madman  I 
*  God  reigns  r  You  are  mad,  for  no  sane  mind  ever 
acted  in  this  way !  '  God  reigns  /'  I  am  certain  of 
that — '' God  reigns  P  Wo  to  you  if  He  does  !  '■God 
reigns P  What  do  you  know  about  God?  '■God 
reigns  P  You  are  a  sce})tic,  an  infidel !  '  God 
reigns  P  God  has  abandoned  yow  /  ^God  reigns  P 
You  are  moved  this  moment  by  the  power  of  the 
Devil !     '  God  reigns  P  said  my  exulting  soul. 

"  Thus  one  temptation  after  another  dashed  upon 
me,  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  hold  on  to  my  rock. 
''God  reigns P  At  one  moment  I  trembled,  as  an 
onset  was  made  upon  me ;  the  next  moment  I 
triumphed,  as  the  onset  was  hurled  back  by  the 
power  of  the  one  certainty  I  wielded.  I  was  sinking, 
amid  the  dark  surges  that  dashed  over  me.  In  an 
instant  I  was  above  them  all — governed  them  all — 
and  could  have  governed  a  thousand  such  oceans, 
because  '  God  reigns  P  I  opposed  that  shield  to  every 
wave  of  midnight — ^to  every  shock  of  scepticism — 
to  every  '  fiery  dart,'  that  Satan  hurled  at  me.  I 
held  it  up,  and  defied  despair  and  the  Devil.  I  turn- 
ed it  in  every  direction,  upon  every  foe,  every  fear, 
every  doubt ;  '  God  Eeigns  !'  and  I  wished  to  know 
nothing  else. 

*'  I  came  home  holding  these  two  words  over  my 
poor  soul,  now  settled,  soothed  down  to  perfect 
peace — calm,  happy.     I  did  not  want  to  think  any- 


406  GOD    reigns:    or,  despair. 

thing,  know  anything,  care  for  anything :  '  God 
reigns  /'  and  that  is  enough. 

"  Gradually  I  got  hold  of  other  truths,  and  em- 
ployed them,  I  hope,  in  faith ;  but  for  many  days  I 
needed  nothing  to  fill  my  soul  with  delight,  but  that 
glorious  idea,  '  God  reigns  P  '  God  reigns  P  It  saved 
me  from  being  a  maniac. 

"  This  is  but  a  very  imperfect  glance  at  one  of  my 
dark  seasons.  It  can  give  you  only  a  partial  idea  of 
them.  No  pen  can  ever  describe  them,  and  no  imagi- 
nation conceive  of  their  horrors,  unless  the  positive 
experiences  of  despair  have  been  such  as  to  make 
imagination  ashamed  of  its  feebleness. 

"  I  do  not  wish  the  return  of  such  seasons.  They 
may,  indeed,  have  been  of  some  use  to  me,  as  my 
wiser  friend  suggested ;  but  I  do  not  like  such  dis- 
cipline ;  I  do  not  wish  to  learn  the  power  of  faith, 
by  being  scorched  by  the  blaze  of  hell. 

"  Never  can  I  even  recollect  those  dark  trials, 
without  being  overcome  with  emotion.  I  wish  I 
could  forget  them.  But  they  are  burnt  upon  my 
memory,  and  I  have  not  been  able  to  write  this 
without  many  tears.  God  grant  you  may  not  be 
able  to  understand  me  now,  or  at  any  time  here- 
after. But  if  you  ever  should  come  into  such 
depths,  I  know  of  but  one  way  to  get  out : — faith, 
FAITH,  FAITH.  You  must  not  try  to  get  out.  You 
must  let  God  take  you  out.    You  can  do  nothing  for 


GOD    reigns:    or,  despaik.  407 

yourself.  You  might  as  well  breast  the  dash  of  the 
ocean,  or  brave  the  thunder  of  heaven.  You  must 
let  God  '  hide  you  in  the  cleft  of  the  rock,  and  cover 
you  with  His  hand !'  You  must  just  exercise  a 
passive  faith^ — much  more  difficult  than  an  active 
one.  At  least  /  have  found  no  other  way.  Reason 
with  such  feelings? — reason  with  a  whirlwind  as 
soon, — with  a  tempest, — with  the  maddened  ocean  I 
You  cannot  reason  with  them.  They  will  take  you 
up,  and  dash  you  about  like  the  veriest  mite  in 
the  universe.  Look  ; — do  nothing  but  look.  God 
reigns.  Jesus  Christ  is  King.  Leave  all  to  Him  : 
—it  is  Faith." 

It  was  a  bright  doctrine,  to  which  this  minister 
clung  in  the  time  of  his  trouble.  It  is  a  great  truth, 
"God  reigns,"  and,  therefore,  'grace  reigns  through 
righteousness  unto  eternal  life,  by  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord;'  and,  therefore,  no  sinner  on  earth  need  ever 
despair. 


C|£  fast  four. 

One  of  the  most  distressing  instances  of  religious 
darkness  and  despondency,  that  I  have  ever  been 
called  to  witness,  was  that  of  a  poor  girl,  whom  I 
first  knew  when  I  was  called  upon  to  visit  her  in 
her  last  sickness.  She  was  not  twenty  jeais  old,  her 
health  had  departed,  she  seemed  to  be  doomed  to 
an  early  grave.  A  seated  pulmonary  affection  de- 
prived her  of  all  hope  of  recovery,  and  she  had  no 
hope  in  God.  From  her  earliest  childhood  she  had 
had  excellent  religious  instruction.  Her  parents 
were  pious  people,  and  though  they  were  poor,  they 
had  carefully  educated  her.  She  had  been  a  scholar 
in  the  Sabbath  school  from  her  childhood,  under  the 
weekly  instructions  of  a  teacher  who  loved  her,  and 
who  had  taught  her  with  assiduity,  kindness,  and 
skill.  But  though  she  had  been  long  the  subject  of 
religious  impressions,  and  had  carefully  studied  her 
Bible,  and  earnestly  prayed  to  be  directed  into  the 
path  of  life,  she  had  never  found  peace  with  God. 

When  I  first  knew  her,  none  but  herself  had  any 
special  fears  that  her  life  was  near  its  end.     She 


THK     LAST     110  UK.  409 

was  tlien  able  to  be  about  the  liouse,  and  sometimes, 
in  pleasant  weather,  to  walk  out  into  the  fields. 
But  she  had  given  up  all  expectation  that  she  should 
recover,  and  she  now  addressed  herself  to  the  work 
of  preparation  for  death,  to  which  she  looked  for- 
ward with  an  indescribable  anguish.  She  regarded 
it  as  the  commencement  of  eternal  woe. 

At  first  I  felt  no  peculiar  discouragement,  on  ac- 
count of  her  religious  depression.  I  regarded  her 
fearful  distress  of  mind,  as  only  the  natural  accom- 
paniment of  a  just  conviction  of  sin,  and  confidently 
expected  that  she  would  soon  be  led  to  hope  and 
peace  in  believing.  But  it  was  far  otherwise  with 
her.  She  attained  no  peace.  As  week  passed  after 
week,  she  continued  in  the  same  despondency,  re- 
ceiving no  light,  no  hope,  no  comfort.  She  read, 
she  examined,  she  wejDt,  she  prayed  in  vain.  And 
as  her  health  declined  more  and  more,  her  mind  be- 
came wrought  up  to  an  intensity  of  anguish  most 
distressful  to  Avitness.  It  was  enough  to  melt  any 
one's  heart,  to  hear  her  cries  for  mercy.  Never  did 
a  sinner  plead  more  earnestly  to  be  delivered  from 
going  down  to  pei:dition.  She  cried  for  mercy,  as 
if  standing  in  the  very  sight  of  hell !  She  had  not 
a  single  gleam  of  light.  Her  soul  was  dark  as  a 
double  midnight,  and  seemed  plunged  into  an  ocean 
of  horrors.  ISTo  one,  I  am  sure,  could  have  listened 
to  Iter  dreadful  wailings,  without  feeling  a  sympathy 
18 


410  THE     LAST     HOUR. 

witli  her,  whicli  would  have  wrung  the  heart  with 
anguish. 

I  visited  her  often,  conversed  with  her  many 
times,  taught  her  most  carefully  all  the  truths  of  the 
Bible,  which  I  supposed  could  possibly  have  any 
tendency  to  awaken  her  faith  in  Christ,  and  prepare 
her  to  meet  Him  ;  but  I  never  had  any  evidence  to 
the  last,  that  anything  I  ever  said  to  her  was  the 
means  of  any  benefit. 

I  wondered  at  her  continued  despair.  It  seemed 
to  be  the  more  remarkable,  on  account  of  the  clear 
views  which  she  appeared  to  have,  of  the  character 
of  God,  of  His  holy  law,  of  her  condemnation  by 
it,  of  her  wicked  heart,  of  redemption  by  Christ,  and 
of  the  faithfulness  of  God  to  fulfil  all  his  promises. 
I  often  examined  her  thoughts  and  feelings  on  all 
such  points  as  well  as  I  could,  in  order  to  detect  any 
error  into  which  she  might  have  fallen,  and  which 
might  be  a  hindrance  to  her  faith  and  peace,  and  in 
order  to  persuade  her  lo  irust  all  her  eternal  interests 
to  the  grace  of  the  great  Kedeemer.  She  had  not 
a  doubt  about  any  of  these  truths.  She  knew  and 
bewailed  her  guiltiness  and  depravity,  she  fully  be- 
lieved in  the  love  of  God  towards  sinners,  and  the 
willingness  of  Christ  to  save  her,  unworthy  as  she 
was ;  she  said  she  hated  sin  with  all  her  heart ;  she 
longed  to  be  holy ;  she  did  not  believe  that  she 
hated  God,  though  she  would  not  say  that  she  loved 


THE     L  AST.  IIOU  U.  411 

Him ;  she  admired  "  tlie  kindness  and  love  of  God  our 
Savioui' "  towards  sinners ;  and  wanted,  above  all 
things,  to  have  an  interest  in  His  redemption,  and 
be  sure  that  He  had  accepted  her. 

Months  before  her  death  I  believed  that  she  was 
a  child  of  God.  I  thought  I  could  discover  every 
evidence  of  it,  except  hope,  and  peace,  and  the  spirit 
of  adoption.  She  had  now  come  to  believe  that  she 
had  some  love  to  God ;  "  but,"  says  she,  "  I  am  afraid 
God  does  not  love  me^  and  will  cast  me  off  forever, 
as  I  deserve." 

I  strove,  in  every  possible  manner,  and  time  after 
time,  to  lead  her  to  the  peace  of  faith.  By  holding 
directly  before  her  mind  the  character  of  God,  the 
redeeming  kindness  and  work  of  Christ,  and  especi' 
ally  God's  free  invitations  and  firm  promises;  I 
strove  to  lead  her  to  an  appropriating  faith,  which 
should  beguile  her  into  a  half-forgetfulness  of  her- 
self, by  causing  her  to  delight  in  God.  By  teaching 
her  according  to  the  Scriptures  what  are  the  evi- 
dences of  a  new  heart,  and  then  by  taking  her  own 
declarations  to  demonstrate  to  her  that  her  own  ex- 
ercises of  mind  and  heart  were  precisely  these  evi- 
dences ;  I  labored  hard  to  induce  her  mind  to  rest 
upon  the  "  witness  within," — a  witness  really  there 
(as  I  believed),  if  she  would  only  hear  and  heed  its 
voice.  I  explained  to  her  what  I  honestly  supposed 
to  be  the  cause  of  her  darkness,  that  is,  her  bodily 


412  THE     LAST     HOUR. 

condition,  wMcli  prevented  her  seeing  things  as 
they  were,  by  throwing  a  deceptive  and  dismal 
cloud  over  everything  that  pertained  to  herself.  At 
times,  when  she  appeared  to  me  to  be  coming  out  of 
her  gloom,  and  to  be  standing  on  the  very  borders  of  a 
light  which  she  could  not  but  see  ;  a  single  recurring 
idea  about  herself  would  fling  her  back  into  all  her 
darkness,  and  she  would  weep  and  wail  in  despair. 

I  had  been  describing  heaven  to  her,  and  refer- 
ring to  its  song  of  redemption,  '  who  loved  us,  and 
washed  us  from  our  sins  in  his  own  blood,' — 

" Others  will  be  in  heaven,"  said  she,  "but /shall 
be  cast  out !  From  the  distant  region  of  my  doom, 
I  shall  behold  my  companions  by  the  river  of  life, 
happy,  happy  spirits,  perhaps  I  shall  hear  their 
song ;  but  no  such  home  for  me ./" 

"How  came  they  there?"  said  I.  "  They  were 
not  saved  by  their  goodness.  They  were  no  better 
than  you.  Jesus  Christ  saved  them  by  his  blood, 
and  he  offers  to  save  you." 

"  He  passes  me  by,  sir.  He  called  them,  and  they 
obeyed  the  call  in  due  time ;  but  he  does  not  call 
tmr 

"  He  does,  my  child.  He  does.  He  calls  you  now^ 
*  Come  unto  ME.'  " 

"  If  He  does,  sir,  I  have  no  heart  to  hear  Him  I 
My  day  is  past  1  my  day  is  past !  I  shall  be  cast 
off  as  I  deserve  !    Oh,  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born !" 


THE     LAST     HOUR.  413 

"  YoTU*  day  is  not  past.  'Now  is  the  day  of 
salvation.'  " 

Her  only  answer  was  tears  and  groans. 

Such  was  her  melancholy  condition,  as  she  de- 
clined more  and  more.  Her  strength  was  now 
almost  gone.  She  evidently  had  but  few  weeks  to 
live,  if  indeed  a  few  days  even  remained  to  be  meas- 
ured by  the  falling  sands  of  her  life. 

One  day,  (some  Aveeks  before  her  deatli,)  after  I 
had  been  stating  to  her  the  evidences  of  a  regener- 
ated state,  and  she  had  clearly  described  to  me  her 
own  views  and  feelings,  which  seemed  to  me  to 
accord  with  these  evidences  in  one  particular  after 
another  almost  throughout  the  entire  chapter;  I 
said  to  her,  with  some  earnestness, — 

"  Mary  Ann,  what  do  you  want  more,  to  convince 
you  that  you  are  a  child  of  God  ?  What  do  you 
expect  ?  K  these  things  do  not  convince  jo\\  what 
could  ?  What  evidence  more  do  you  want  ?  Do 
you  want  an  angel  to  come  down  from  heaven  here 
to  your  bedside,  to  tell  you  that  you  are  a  Chris- 
tian, and  shall  go  to  heaven  as  soon  as  you  die  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  she,  in  a  transport  of  emotion, 
clasping  her  death-pale  hands,  "  that  is  just  what  I 
want — 'just  what  I  wantr 

"That  is  just  what  you  cannot  have,"  said  I; 
"  God  is  not  going  to  give  you  any  such  Mnd  of 
evidence." 


414  THE     LAST     HOUTl, 

I  then  explained  to  her,  how  she  must  rest  upon 
spiritual  evidences,  as  all  Christians  do,  and  not  on 
any  evidence  of  the  senses,  or  supernatural  occur- 
rence outside  of  her  own  heart. 

As  she  approached  fast  her  end,  and  evidently 
could  not  survive  much  longer ;  I  was  greatly  dis- 
appointed and  saddened,  that  her  mind  continued 
in  the  same  unbroken  gloom.  I  had  not  expected 
it.  I  had  looked  for  a  different  experience.  But  it 
now  seemed  that  her  sun  must  go  down  in  clouds  1 

One  Sabbath  morning,  just  before  the  time  of 
public  service,  I  was  sent  for  to  "  see  her  die." 
She  could  still  speak,  in  a  very  clear  and  intelli- 
gible manner,  better  than  for  weeks  before.  Her 
reason  was  continued  to  her,  all  her  faculties  ap- 
peared as  unimpaired  and  bright  as  ever.  All  that 
I  could  discover  of  any  alteration  in  her  mind,  ap- 
peared to  me  to  consist  simply  in  this, — ^she  now 
thought  of  herself  less,  and  of  her  God  and  Saviour 
more.  I  told  her,  as  I  was  requested  to  do,  that 
she  was  now  very  soon  to  die.  The  bell  was  tolling 
for  me  to  go  to  the  pulpit,  and,  having  prayed  with 
her,  commending  her  to  her  God,  I  gave  her  my 
hand  to  bid  her  farewell.  "  Will  you  come  to  see 
me  at  noon  ?"  says  she. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  cannot  live  till  noon.  The 
Doctor  says  you  cannot  live  half  an  hour.  I  will 
come  here  as  soon  as  I  leave  the  church." 


THE     LAST     HOUR.  415 

I  went  to  tlie  cliurcli  and  preached ;  and  as  soon 
as  the  service  closed,  I  went  immediately  to  lier 
house.  She  was  still  alive.  One  of  her  friends  met 
me  at  the  door,  and  hastily  told  me,  that  soon  after 
I  left  the  house,  an  hour  and  a  half  before,  she 
avowed , her  perfect  trust  in  Christ,  and  her  firm  con- 
fidence that  He  would  "  take  her  home  to  heaven." 
"  I  am  full  of  peace,"  said  she,  "  I  can  trust  my 
God.  This  is  enough.  I  am  happy,  happy.  I  die 
happy."  A  little  while  after,  she  said  she  wanted  to 
see  me  "  once  more."  She  was  told  I  was  in  church, 
and  that  she  could  not  live  till  the  sermon  was 
closed.  '''•  I sliall  live^^  said  she  firmly.  She  seemed 
to  refuse  to  die.  She  inquired  what  time  the  service 
would  close,  and  being  told,  she  often  afterwards 
inquired  what  time  it  was.  She  Avatched  the  hands 
of  the  clock,  frequently  turning  her  eyes  upon  them, 
in  the  intervals  between  her  prayers  and  praises  and 
rapturous  thanksgivings.  As  I  entered  the  room 
she  turned  her  eyes  upon  me;  "Oh,"  says  she,  "I 
am  glad  you  have  come ;  I  have  been  waiting  for 
you.  I  wanted  to  see  you  once  more,  and  tell  you 
how  happy  I  am.  I  have  found  out  that  a  poor 
sinner  has  nothing  to  do  only  to  believe.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  death  now.  I  am  willing  to  die.  God  has 
forgiven  me,  and  I  die  happy, — 1  am  very  happy. 
I  wanted  to  tell  you  this.  I  thought  I  should  hve 
long  enough  to  tell  you.      I  thought  God  would 


416  THE     LAST     HOUR. 

not  let  me  die  till  I  had  seen  you,  and  told  you  of 
my  joy,  so  as  not  to  have  you  discouraged  when  you 
meet  with  other  persons  who  have  such  dark  minds 
as  mine  was.  Tell  them  to  seek  the  Saviour,  Light 
will  come  some  time,  if  it  is  at  the  last  hour.  I 
prayed  God  to  let  me  see  you  once  more.  He  has 
granted  my  last  prayer  ;  and  now — now  I  am  ready." 
Her  voice  faltered ;  she  could  say  no  more.  I 
prayed  some  two  or  three  minutes  by  her  bedside  ; 
we  rose  from  our  knees,  and  in  less  than  five  minutes 
more  she  was  dead.  '  Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die 
in  the  Lord.' 

It  was  pleasant  to  hear  this  dying  girl  affirm  her 
faith,  and  to  witness  her  joy  at  the  moment  of 
death.  But  I  do  not  know  that  this  joy  amounted 
to  any  more  real  evidence  of  her  effectual  calling  to 
Christ  by  the  Holy  Spirit  than  she  had  presented 
before.  Faith  is  one  thing,  and  feeling  is  another. 
It  is  the  faith  that  saves.  It  is  the  feeling  that  com- 
forts. But  the  faith  may  exist  where  the  feeling  is 
wanting.  The  principle  may  exist  where  its  action 
is  wanting. 

If  this  poor  girl  had  died  in  all  her  darkness  and 
fears,  I  should  not  have  despaired  of  her.  Amid 
all  her  glooms  of  guilt,  I  thought  she  exhibited 
proofs  of  faith.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  faith, 
which  made  her  attend  to  the  truths  of  the  Bible^ 


THE     LAST     HOUR.  417 

with  such  careful  scrutiny  and  enduring  persever- 
ance, at  the  very  moment  when  she  saw  no  hght  in 
it  for  her  ; — that  it  was  faith,  which  made  her  pray 
so  fervently  and  without  faltering,  month  after 
month,  at  the  very  time  when  she  did  not  suppose 
she  received  any  answer  ; — that  it  was  faith,  whicli 
kept  her,  in  her  most  gloomy  times,  perfectl}^  free 
from  any  besetting  doubt  that  there  is  salvation  for 
sinners  in  Jesus  Christ,  freely  offered  to  them  in  the 
love  of  God ; — ^that  it  was  faith,  which  made  her  so 
perfectly  assured  that  peace  with  God  is  attainable, 
and  made  her  long  for  it  as  the  only  thing  she  cared 
for ; — yea,  that  it  was  faith,  which  gave  to  her  ver}^ 
glooms  their  most  terrible  aspect,  creating  such  a 
confident  and  continued  conviction  that  if  Christ 
was  not  found,  everything  was  lost.  Her  grief  was 
not  that  of  an  alien  and  an  enemy,  but  that  of  an 
affectionate,  but  disinherited  child.  The  very  point 
of  her  anguish  consisted  in  this, — namely,  that  she 
believed  Christ  to  be  a  full  and  free  Saviour,  and 
yet  could  find  no  evidence  in  her  heart  that  she 
trusted  in  Him.  The  promises  were  precious  things 
in  her  heart's  estimation,  but  they  seemed  to  her  to 
be  precious  things  which  she  did  not  embrace.  She 
distrusted  herself,  but  not  God.  She  was  afraid  to 
believe  that  she  was  a  believer.  She  was  so  trem- 
blingly afraid  of  getting  wrong,  that  she  dared  not 
think  she  could  possibly  be  right.  On  this  ground, 
18* 


418  THE     LAST     nOUR. 

I  was  led  to  believe  that  Mary  Ann  was  a  child  of 
God,  long  before  that  memorable  light  shone  on  her 
soul  in  the  hour  of  death.  She  was  in  darkness, 
not  because  she  had  no  faith,  but  because  she  did 
not  believe  she  had  any.  She  had  a  title  to  heaven, 
without  having  eyes  to  read  it. 

Her  mother,  father,  and  physician,  (who  was  a 
pious  man),  all  her  friends,  as  I  suppose,  regarded 
this  bright  close  of  her  earthly  experience  very  dif- 
ferently from  myself  They  appeared  to  look  upon 
it  as  the  commencement  of  her  faith,  thinking  that 
God  had  first  appeared  for  her  in  that  time  of  her 
first  triumph  and  joy.  Such  an  idea  in  similar 
cases,  I  suppose,  to  be  common,  and  I  suppose  it  to 
be  an  error,  and  a  very  misleading  one,  especially 
to  many  unconverted  sinners.  Such  unconverted 
sinners  hear  of  instances  like  this,  and,  therefore, 
hope  that  it  may  be  just  so  with  themselves,  when 
they  shall  be  called  to  die.  On  the  ground  of  this 
hope,  they  speak  a  deceitful  peace  to  their  own 
hearts,  without  any  definite,  determined,  and  prayer- 
ful efforts  to  prepare  for  death, — just  leaving  it  to 
that  coming  hour  itself  to  bring  along  with  it  the 
preparation  they  need.  Their  secret  thought  is, — 
such  a  one,  who  always  lived  without  religion,  died 
in  peace  at  last,  and  why  should  not  I  ?  Delusive 
thought,  and  often  fatal !  These  persons  never  stop 
to  inquire  what  had  been  the  previous  heart-history, 


THE     LAST     HOUR.  419 

tlie  struggles,  and  prayers  of  those,  whose  peaceful 
death  they  mention.  They  themselves  are  not  living 
such  a  life  as  their  now  departed  acquaintance  did, 
who  died  in  peace;  and,  therefore,  they  have  no 
good  reason  to  think  they  shall  die  such  a  death. 
Too  hastily  they  say  of  such  a  one,  "  he  hved  all 
his  life  without  religion."  They  say  what  they  do 
not  know,  and  what  probably  is  false.  If  any  one 
would  hope  to  die  like  Mary  Ann,  let  him  live  like 
Mary  Ann.  Her  supreme  aim,  and  her  agonizing 
prayer  for  months,  sought  the  favor  of  God.  To 
gain  this,  she  omitted  nothing  which  she  deemed  a 
duty, — she  deferred  nothing  to  a  future  hour.  To 
gain  this  was  all  her  desire,  and  no  discouragement 
could  make  her  falter,  or  turn  her  aside.  'Go 
thou  and  do  likewise,'  if  thou  wouldst  die  like 
Mary  Ann. 


Ct]^  ialuii  of  P^bxtt. 

Sixteen  years  after  the  death  of  Mary  Ann  (men- 
tioned in  the  preceding  sketch),  I  was  summoned  to 
the  sick-bed  of  her  sister.  She  was  a  younger  sister, 
whom  I  had  never  seen  since  she  was  a  mere  child, 
and  of  whose  rehgious  character  I  had  no  knowledge. 
She  had  married ;  and  after  many  trying  changes, 
she  was  now  in  the  city  of  New  York.  A  kind  lady, 
one  of  my  own  friends  who  resided  in  that  city,  and 
who  had  formerly  known  something  of  her  family 
in  another  State,  had  accidentally  heard  of  her  ill- 
ness, had  called  upon  her,  and  now  did  me  the  fa- 
vor to  bring  me  the  sick  woman's  request,  that  I 
"  would  go  and  see  her."  She  told  me  I  should  find 
her  in  a  very  destitute  condition,  very  much  unbe- 
friended  and  alone,  though  she  had  herself  done 
something  for  her,  to  make  her  a  little  more  comfort- 
able. I  received  this  message  in  the  evening,  and 
early  the  next  morning  I  made  my  way  to  the  house, 
to  which  she  had  directed  me. 

I  found  the  sick  woman  in  a  boarding-house, 
among  strangers,  where  nobody  knew  her  except 


THE     DAWN     OF     HEAVEN.  421 

her  husband,  and  manifestly  nobody  cared  for  her. 
She  was  in  the  garret,  in  a  httle  room  close  nnder 
the  roof  of  the  house.  The  scanty  furniture  and  the 
whole  appearance  of  the  room,  showed  me,  at  a 
glance,  how  unenviable  was  her  condition.  There 
was  but  one  chair  in  the  room,  and  this  was  used 
for  a  table  (the  only  one  she  had),  on  which  were 
placed  some  vials  of  medicine,  a  tea-cup  and  a  saucer, 
which  constituted  all  the  furniture  of  the  room,  ex- 
cept her  humble  bed.  But  all  was  neat  and  clean. 
If  there  was  scantiness,  there  was  decency. 

As  I  entered  the  room,  I  perceived  at  once  her 
hopeless  condition.  She  was  emaciated,  pale,  tor- 
mented with  a  hollow  cough,  unable  to  speak  but 
in  a  whisper,  and  her  cheek  was  flushed  with  that 
round  spot  of  peculiar  red,  vv^ith  which  I  had  be- 
come too  familiar  to  mistake  it  for  anything  else 
than  the  fatal  signal.  I  approached  the  bed  on 
which  she  was  lying,  told  her  who  I  was,  and  offer- 
ed her  my  hand. 

"I  am  very  happy — to  see  you,"  said  she  (s23eak- 
mg  with  effort  and  only  in  a  whisper,  and  compell- 
ed to  pause  at  almost  every  word).  "  I  did  not  sup- 
pose— you  would  remember  me — at  all, — and  for  a 
long  thue — I  could  not  have  courage — to  send — for 
you, — or — ^let  you  know — that  I  was  here.  But  I 
remembered — you  visited — my  sister, — Mary  Ann^ 


422  THE     DAWN     OF     HEAVEN. 

— when  she  died, — and  I  liad — a  great  desire  to — 
see  you." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  I,  "  to  be  able  to  see  yon ; 
but  I  am  sorry  to  find  you  so  ill.  I  wish  I  bad 
known  that  you  were  here,  sooner." 

^'  You  are — very  kind,  sir  ; — ^but  I  was — afraid  to 
trouble  you.  I  have- — not  seen  you — ^before, — since 
I  was — a  little  child ; — and  I  supposed — you  had — 
forgotten,  that — there  was  such  a  person.  I  am 
very  thankful  to  you — for  being  so  kind — as  to 
come — ^to  see  me." 

''Have  you  been  sick  long?" 

"Yes  sir, — a  good  many — months.  I  have  lately 
• — ^been  growing — much  worse, — and  I  want  now — 
to  get  home — to  my  mother, — this  week, — if  I  can. 
I  think — I  should  be  better  there — for  a  little  while, 
— though  I  cannot  tell." 

"Do  you  think  you  are  well  enough  to  go 
home?" 

"  I  hope — I  could  go — 'in  the  boat — and  live  to  get 
there.  The  hottest — of  the  summer — ^is  coming  on 
soon — and  our  place  here — is  very  uncomfortable ; 
but — most  of  all — I  want  to  see — my  mother^ — once 
more — ^before  I  die."  And  the  big  tears  rolled  fast 
over  her  fevered  cheeks. 

"  I  hope,"  said  I,  "you  may  be  able  to  see  her; 
but  you  do  not  seem  to  have  much  strength  just 


THE     DAAVN     OF     HEAVEN.  423 

"  Indeed,  sh', — mj  strength — is — all  gone.  I  can- 
not— stand  on  my  feet — any  longer.  Before  I  be- 
came— so  weak — I  used  to  work  witli  my  needle — 
and  help  my  husband — earn  something  ; — and  then, 
we  had — a  more  comfortable  place.  But  I  can  do 
nothing — now — and  so  we  came — to  this — ^garret — 
to  save  rent." 

"  Have  you  much  pain  ?" 

"  Yes  sir — I  am  in — great  pain  now, — the  most — 
of  the  time." 

"  Do  you  expect  ever  to  get  well  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  sir, — I  shall — never  get  well.  I  know  I 
am — to  die — before  long  ; — the  consumption — is — a 
hopeless  disease.  This  painful  cough — will  soon 
end — my  days." 

"  Are  you  afraid  to  die  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  sir,"  said  she  with  a  smile,  "  Jesus — is 
my  hope.     He — will  save  me." 

"  Trust  Him,"  said  I,  "  you  trust  eternal  rock. 
He  has  promised," — 

Interrupting  me,  she  replied, — 

"What  can — anybody  want — more  than  the 
promises  f  It  seems  to  me — the  promises — are 
enough — for  everybody  ; — so  sweet — they  are  so  full. 
Why,  God — has  promised — ^to  make — an  everlasting 
covenant — with  us — poor  sinners  I"  And  tears  of 
joy  coursed  down  her  smiling  face. 

I  conversed  with  her  as  long  as  I  thought  it  best 


424  THE     DAWN     OF     HEAVEN. 

for  her.  All  lier  conversation  was  in  the  same 
happy  strain.  She  appeared  very  much  exhausted, 
and  I  had  little  hope  that  her  desire  to  ''see  her 
mother  once  more,"  would  ever  be  gratified.  Indeed 
I  did  not  think  she  would  live  till  sun-set.  I  prayed 
with  her,  and  promising  to  call  again  in  the  after- 
noon, I  left  her. 

Some  httle  arrangements  were  made  for  her  com- 
fort, and  in  the  afternoon  I  called  there  again.  She 
was  evidently  worse,  but  her  joy  was  full.  Said 
she," — ■ 

"  I  bless  my  God' — ^for  all  my  pain — ^for  the  disap- 
pointments— of  my  past  life, — and  the  strange — 
strange  way — in  which — ^lie  has — led  me  on.  I  have 
had  trials — many  trials.  My  husband — did  not  pros- 
per— as — he  hoped — ^to  do, — and  sometimes — we 
have  been — in  distress.  But — my  trials  have — done 
me  good.  Now  we  have  few  wants. — You  know  I 
cannot — eat  anything  now, — and  I  hope — his  wages 
— ^will  keep  him — from  suffering.  I  came — to  this 
— ^little  room — when  I — could  not  work — any  long- 
er,— on  purpose  to  relieve  him.  The  rent — ^is 
cheaper — here — in  this — ^little  garret, — and  I  want 
to  be — as  little  burdensome — ^to  him — as  possible. 
I  used  to  think — when  I  first  made  a  profession — 
of  religion — trials  would — overcome  me ; — but  God 
makes  me  happy — in  them.  I  find — if  one — is  not 
worldly — ^trials  are  easy— to  bear ; — and  if — we  look 


THE     DAWN     OF    HEAVEN.  425 

towards  God — and  lieavcn — tlicy  are — notliing  at 
all — ^but  mercies." 

"  And  does  your  husband  feel  as  you  do  ?  Is  he 
a  pious  man  ?" 

She  turned  her  languid  head  upon  her  pillow, 
glancing  around  tlie  room,  to  see  if  the  nurse  wlio 
had  been  procured  for  her,  had  left  the  room,  and 
perceiving  she  was  not  there,  said  she, — 

''  I  suppose — I  may  speak — freely — to  you — about 
my  husband, — ^since — we  are  alone.  He  is  not — 
rehgious, — and  that  is  the  trouble — of  my  heart." 

She  could  say  do  more :  she  wept  and  sobbed 
aloud.  After  a  little  time,  becoming  more  com- 
posed, evidently  struggling  to  suppress  her  emotions, 
she  continued, — 

"  I  must  leave  that — I  can't — speak — of  him.  Oh, 
it  seems  to  me — as  if  the  careless,  who  neglect — sal- 
vation,—  have  never — ^read — God's  promises.  If 
they  had — and  knew — what  they  meant — ^they  could 
not — ^help  trusting — ^them.  I  am  happier  now — 
than  ever — I  was  before.  It  is  sweet  to— suffer — 
this  pain, — when  Christ — puts  such  delights — into 
my  soul." 

She  was  now  stronger  than  I  had  expected  to  find 
her.  I  prayed  with  her,  and  promising  to  see  her 
again  the  next  day,  I  left  her. 

I  was  prevented  from  calling  to  see  her  the  next 
morning,  as  I  had  intended ;   and  when  I  called  in 


4^  THE     DAWN     OF     HEAVEN. 

the  afternoon,  I  perceived  her  end  was  very  fast  ap- 
proaching. Her  countenance  was  changed,  her 
pulse  more  feeble  and  fluttering,  her  voice  was  now 
perfectly  restored,  and  she  could  speak  Avith  strong, 
clear  articulation.  She  mentioned  her  recovered  voice 
as  an  instance  of  God's  goodness  to  her,  and  both 
she  and  her  husband  took  it  as  an  evidence  that  she 
might  live  to  reach  her  home.  To  me  it  was  only  an 
evidence  to  the  contrary.  She  did  not  appear  to  be 
at  all  aware  how  near  she  was  to  death,  and  still  en- 
tertained the  hope  of  starting  the  next  daj^,  "to  go 
home  to  her  mother."  I  felt  very  reluctant  to  crush 
that  hope  ;  but  I  thought  she  ought  to  be  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  prospect  before  her.  She  was 
still  very  weak  and  in  some  pain,  and  when  I  men- 
tioned her  sufferings  to  her,  and  expressed  my  sor- 
row that  she  had  so  much  to  endure ;  her  face  light- 
ed up  with  a  glad  smile  :  said  she, — 

"  Oh,  it  is  pleasant  to  suffer,  when  we  know  it  is 
our  God  that  brings  us  to  it.  He  does  not  afflict  me 
too  much.  My  poor  body  is  weak  and  almost  gone ; 
but  my  God  fills  me  with  the  delights  of  his  love. 
My  heart  is  full  of  joy.  I  am  perfectly  happy.  I 
shall  soon  be  where  Christ  is,  and  love  Him  forever." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  you  are  aware  that  you 
cannot  now  last  but  a  little  while ;  and  are  prepared 
to  go,  at  any  moment  when  God  bids." 

"  I  have  no  desire,  sir,  to  get  well.     Why  should 


THE     DAWN     OF     HEAVEN.  42*7 

I  have  ?  There  is  nothing  in  this  world  for  me. 
You  see  we  have  nothing.  I  have  parted  with  all 
my  little  furniture  and  my  clothes,  to  get  bread  and 
pay  our  debts ;  and  I  don't  want  tlie  world ;  it  is  no- 
thing to  me  now,  and  I  leave  it  willingly.  I  am 
happy.  God  makes  me  happy.  Christ  is  enough 
for  me.  I  love  to  trust  God's  promises.  I  trust 
Him  for  all  I  want,  and  He  makes  me  very  happy. 
Death  seems  like  nothing  to  me.  It  is  my  friend. 
I  welcome  it.  Dying  is  only  a  step,  and  then  I  shall 
be  at  home,  at  home  ;"  and  tears  of  joy  coursed  down 
her  smiling  face.  The  last  word — home^  which  she 
had  uttered,  seemed  to  remind  her  of  her  earthly 
home,  and  she  added, — 

"  To-morrow,  I  hope  to  go  home  to  my  mother^ 
and  see  her  and  all  my  other  friends  once  more ; 
perhaps  I  may." 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  my  dear  friend.  You  are  very 
low,  and  I  wish  you  to  be  ready  to  die  at  any 
moment." 

Turning  her  death-glazed  eyes  upon  me,  she 
asked, — 

"Shall  I  die  to-night ?  If  you  think  so,  tell  me 
plainly.  Don't  weep  so  for  me.  I  thank  you  for 
all  your  kind  sympathy ;  but  I  am  j)erfectly  happy. 
God  fulfils  to  me  all  His  promises.  I  leave  all  in 
His  hands — gladly,  joyfully.  But  I  think  I  can  live 
to  get  home.     You  think  I  shall  die  to-night.     I 


428  THE     DAWN     OF    HEAVEN. 

thank  you  for  letting  me  know  it ;  and  I  am 
if  God  calls.  But  if  I  am  alive,  may  I  see  you  in 
the  morning?  God  will  reward  you,  I  know,  for 
all  your  kindness  to  me." 

"  Yes,  my  child  ;  you  may  expect  me  here  in  the 
morning ;  but  if  you  have  anything  you  wish  to 
say  to  me,  you  had  better  say  it  now." 

"  I  have  no  more  to  say,  but  to  thank  you  again. 
Your  kind  Avords  have  done  me  great  good  ;  and  it 
has  been  sweet  to  me,  very  sweet,  to  join  with  you 
in  prayer.  Help  me  to  praise  God  for  the  delights 
that  fill  my  soul.     Don't  weep  so  for  me." 

I  prayed  with  her,  and  praised  God  as  she  desired, 
and  then  bade  her  farewell.  "  Do  not  think  I  weep 
because  I  am  sorry,"  said  she,  "  I  weep  because  I 
am  overcome  with  joy.  Delights  fill  my  haj)py  soul. 
This  is  the  dawn  of  heaven.  My  heaven  is  begun. 
Dying  is  sweet  to  me.  I  go  to  my  blessed  Lord.  I 
thank  you  for  coming  to  me.     Farewell,  farewell." 

Early  the  next  morning  I  returned  to  that  privi- 
leged garret.  It  was  empty  !  Even  her  corpse  was 
not  there !  She  had  died  about  four  hours  after  I 
left  her ;  her  body  had  been  placed  in  its  coffin, 
conveyed  on  board  the  vessel,  and  on  the  very  day 
in  which  she  expected  to  see  her  '^  mother  once  more," 
her  mother  received  the  lifeless  corpse  of  her  child. 

It  now  lies  buried  in  the  grave-yard  of  her  native 
valley.     She   and   Mary  Ann  sleep  side  by  side. 


THE     DAWN     OF     H  K  A  V  E  N  .  429 

And  they  shall  rise  together  from  the  dead,  in  that 
coming  day  when  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  shall  be 
revealed  from  heaven,  '  to  be  glorified  in  his  saints, 
and  to  be  admired  in  all  them  that  believe.' 

K  grace  is  there,  how  instructive,  how  glorious  is 

THE  DEATH  BED  OF  THE  POOR. 

"  Tread  softlj^ — ^bow  the  head — 
In  reverent  silence  bow  ; 
No  passing  bell  doth  toll — 
Yet  an  immortal  soul 
Is  passing  now. 

"  Stranger !  however  great, 

With  lowly  reverence  bow  ; 
There's  one  in  that  poor  shed — 
One  on  that  paltry  bed — 
Greater  than  thou. 

"  Beneath  that  beggar's  roof, 

Lo  !  Death  doth  keep  his  state ; 
Enter — no  crowd  attend : 
Enter — no  guards  defend 
This  palace  gate. 

"  That  pavement,  damp  and  cold, 
No  smiling  courtiers  tread ; 


430  THE    DAWN    OF    HEAVEN. 

One  silent  woman  stands — 
Lifting  with  meagre  hands 
A  dying  head. 

^'ISTo  mingling  voices  sonnd — 
An  infant  wail  alone  ; 
A  sob  suppressed — again 
That  short,  deep  gasp,  and  then 
The  parting  groan. 

"  Oh  !  change — Oh  Avondrous  change- 
Burst  are  the  prison  bars  ; 
This  moment  there^  so  low, 
So  agonized,  and  now 
Beyond  the  stars. 

"  Oh !  change — stupendous  change  I 
There  lies  the  soulless  clod ; 
The  sun  eternal  breaks — 
The  new  immortal  wakes — 
Wakes  mth  his  God." 


THE   END. 


The  following  is  tlie  Table  of  Contents  of  the 
former  series  of  "  A  Pastor's  Sketches :" 


TQE   YOUNG  IKISriMAN. 

FAITU    EVEEYTniNG. 

SlMrUCITY    OF   FAITH. 

WAITING  FOR   TDE  HOLY  SPIEIT. 

BUSINESS    HINDRANCE. 

WAITING  FOE    CONVICTION. 

NOT   DISCOURAGED. 

RELIANCE    ON   MAN. 

BAD    ADVICE. 

THE    WHOLE    HEART. 

WELSH    WOMAN    AND    TENANT. 

THE    HOLY    SPIEIT   EESISTED. 

THE   HEAET  PEOMISED. 

FIXED   DESPAIR. 

TOTAL    DEPEAVITY. 

IGNORANCE   OF   SELF. 

SUPERFICIAL    CONVICTION. 

EXCITEMENT. 

ASHAMED   OF   CHRIST. 

THE    LAST    STEP. 


THE    PERSECUTED    WIFE. 
THE   ARROW   DRIVEN  DEEPBB. 
DIVIDED    MIND. 
HUMAN    RESOLVES. 

I  can't  repent. 

A   STRANGE    SNARE. 

FANATICISM. 

A  mother's  PEAYER. 

EASY  TO  BE  A  OHEISTLAJT. 

PEOSELYTING. 

THE    OBSTINATE  6IEL. 

CONVICTION   EESISTED. 

DETEEMINATION. 

THE  MISEEABLE   HEAET. 

UNCONDITIONAL    SUBMISSION. 

THE  UNPAEDONABLE    SIN. 

ELECTION. 

THE   BEOWN   JUG. 

THE    HAEVEST   PAST. 

DOCTEINES    AND    DEATH. 


